Star Traks: Howlers
by Lt. Silverado
Summary: Star Traks chronically the truly inept as they boldly screw up where none have screwed up before. Star Traks: Howlers follows the security team of the USS Farkas. A standard group...except for some reason the Farkas is kept top-secret, most of their missions involve killing things, and the team members get a bit...furry...once in a while. Don't take this one too seriously folks!
1. 1 - Loupapalooza

Star Trek was created by Gene Roddenberry and remains firmly in the grasp of Paramount. If they decide to sue over a story like this, their legal department has WAAAYYY to much time on their hands.

Star Traks is the creation of Alan Decker, who is far too busy chasing after his kids to sue. Aside from which, I don't really think he's the suing sort. But I could be wrong. After all, he is an American, and most of the American headlines we get up here tend to involve lawsuits of some kind.

Star Traks: Howlers is my demented spin on both Star Trek and Star Traks. And...I will admit...was partially inspired by some really weird nightmares following a weekend of writing Traks and playing too much Skyrim...

Copyright 2011

The following may contain content of a violent, profane or sexual nature. Sort of like real life and the evening news. If your country of origin prevents you from viewing such material, they're probably trying a little too hard to protect you from the world. Still, it's best to follow your local laws. So if they say you can't read this, you better not read it. And they suck for saying so. Otherwise, enjoy the story.

Star Traks: Howlers

1 – 'Loupapalooza'

Ensign Greg Mayle groaned as he lay on the bio-bed.  
"He's coming around," a voice said.  
"OK. Now remember what we talked about," another voice replied, "Try to break the news easy this time. The last guy that got sent our way was hiding in his quarters for a month,"  
"Can you really blame him? These guys are pretty much f-"  
"Quiet!"  
Mayle rolled onto his side, opened his mouth and vomited profusely into a strategically placed bucket.  
"HAH!" the second voice exclaimed, "Told you we'd need the bucket!"  
"OK," the first voice sighed, "I'll give you your fifty credits after we get this guy out of here."  
"Where am I?" Mayle asked, opening his eyes and squinting into the light. Why the heck did sickbay designers always put the lights right over the head of the bio-beds?  
"You're in Sickbay," the first voice said immediately. Looking around, Mayle spotted a fairly non-descript man wearing the blue-collared uniform that put him in Sciences or Medical. Considering he was in Sickbay, Mayle decided it was the latter.  
"I'm Dr. Wolfman," the man went on, confirming Mayle's theory, "Turns out you've had a bit of an accident,"  
Mayle looked down and quickly checked himself out. Arms & fingers? Check. Legs & toes? Check. Genitals? Check. Vision, hearing & smell? Check.  
Monster headache, sharp stomach-ache and massive nausea? Check and mate. But at least he was in one piece.  
"How long was I out?" he asked.  
"You were in stasis for about two months," the second man replied. Mayle looked around, but didn't see anybody.  
"Down here," the voice added, sounding annoyed.  
Mayle struggled to sit up a bit, then noticed the other man. This one was wearing command red, and was maybe five feet tall. He was fairly slender too.  
"I'm Captain Harth," he introduced himself.  
"Two months?" Mayle asked.  
"Do you remember what happened?" Dr. Wolfman asked.  
Mayle thought back. He'd been working on the security team aboard the USS Aerostar-A, on a mission to the Gamma Quadrant. Something to do with establishing better diplomatic ties with the Dominion, even though the big war had been years ago. There'd been a planet…guard duty…and some sort of snarling alien monster!  
"I think…I think something tried to eat me!" he said shakily.  
"Excellent!" Wolfman exclaimed happily, "Your memory is coming back!"  
"Wait…something DID try to eat me?"  
"Well, it took a big bite of you," Harth said, "But you're OK now. Your doctor put you in a stasis tube and shipped you to us."  
"Um…"  
"Do you want the good news, or the bad news?" Wolfman jumped back in.  
"Uh…the good news?" Mayle gulped.  
"I replaced your spleen, liver, pancreas and large intestine," Wolfman said, looking very pleased with himself, "The replicated organs have integrated themselves nicely. The old ones are over there if you want them, but I can't imagine why you would,"  
Mayle looked in the indicated direction, but all he could see was a pile of bloody hamburger. Wait a minute….that wasn't hamburger!  
"BLLAAAHHHHHH!" he puked again, this time with greater force.  
"The bucket was definitely a good idea," Captain Harth said, sounding strangely upbeat.  
"What's the bad news?" Mayle asked, wiping his mouth.  
"Hmmm?" Wolfman had been studying his medical tricorder, "Oh. You've been infected with an incurable alien disease."  
"In…in…infected?" Mayle gulped.  
"That's why you were sent to this ship," Harth said, "We're…um…specially equipped to help you manage your condition,"  
"But…but what's wrong with me! Am I going to get sick?" Now Mayle was really starting to get scared.  
"No, nothing like that," Wolfman assured him, holding a padd in one hand and a very sharp-looking scalpel in the other, "Some medication, some counselling and you'll be able to manage. Now, just sign this waiver so I can start taking tissue samples!"  
"Easy, doc," Harth shook his head, "Let's let him settle in before you start taking him apart!"  
"Humma…humma…humma…" Mayle stuttered.  
` "No, not literally," Harth said, patting him on the shoulder, "He's just researching your…condition."  
"For a cure?"  
"Something like that," Harth smiled.

"You're aboard the USS Farkas," Chief of Security Lieutenant Commander Alice Travs explained to Mayle as she led him down the corridor, "Intrepid-class, fairly standard. We did get a nice set of sensor-reflective shields to make it a little easier to sneak around,"  
"Why would we be sneaking around?" Mayle asked.  
"The ship is operated by Starfleet Intelligence," Travs explained, "The missions vary, but the overall goal is the deployment and extraction of the Howlers. That's our security team," she added for good measure.  
"And what kind of missions do the…Howlers…do?"  
"Oh, take over this outpost, hold that position, extract some whining hostage. Ordinary security stuff," Travs shrugged.  
"That sounds more like Federation Marine stuff," Mayle frowned.  
"Well, we have a few abilities the Marines don't have," Travs gave a small smile.  
"Like what?"  
"All in good time," she said, "Your personal effects should be in your quarters. I think I saw a stasis tube in there…do you have a pet?"  
"Yeah. A cat,"  
"Ah," now Travs definitely looked amused, "Well, here are your quarters. I'll see you in the squad room in half an hour. Enjoy!"

Leaving Mayle to his new rooms, Travs returned to the Howlers Den, basically the security team squad room and training facilities. The locker & gear room was empty, but the sound of conversation coming from the adjoining briefing room told her that her troops were present. She checked herself in the mirror, making sure she was presentable. She was a petite woman with chocolate coloured skin and a slender figure. Definitely not the kind of person you'd expect to see on a security team, never mind leading it. She turned away from her reflection and stepped through the door.  
"Atten-TION!" Lieutenant Morreth shouted as Travs entered.  
"Relax," she snapped, "and Morreth, I swear to God, if you don't stop doing that I'm going to gag you!"  
"It is proper protocol," Morreth said indignantly. He was Klingon, but lacked the usual burly build of a warrior. Instead, he had a swimmers build and pale, almost pasty-looking skin. It wasn't exactly a mystery why he'd chosen Starfleet instead of service to the Empire, "And yelling at me in front of the troops isn't," he finished, mostly to himself.  
"OK people, our next mission," Travs said, "The Farkas is on course for Yanpir IV. There's a Cardassian colony there that's been taken over by an Orion Syndicate group,"  
A hand went up.  
"Why do we care?" asked Ensign Nacht, "I mean, I know the Cardassion economy went to hell, but what do we have to do with their Orion problem?"  
"Starfleet feels exactly the same way," Travs nodded, "But Starfleet Intelligence sees this as a chance to remind the Orions that we're not going to look the other way while they play at being warlords. So our job is to go in, wrest control of the colony from the Orions, then get out before the Cardassians send their own reinforcements. If they manage to scrape together enough ships to send reinforncements, that is."  
"Are we taking the new guy?" Lieutenant Vanheath asked.  
"Good question," Travs replied, "Absolutely. Which means we have to be…discreet on this one,"  
There was an assorted collection of shouts and complaints until Morrath shouted for silence.  
"Hey, the Captain wants us to start this new guy off easy, OK?" Travs said, "Besides, you need some practice doing things the old-fashioned way. The new guy will be here in fifteen minutes. Nacht, I'm putting him in your team."  
"Goody," Nacht sighed, "I get a rookie,"  
They were in the process of going through the mission details when there was a commotion outside.  
An average-looking blond human came crashing through the doors leading to the corridor, his arms frantically reaching for the cream-coloured ball of fur that had attached itself to his back. The thing was hissing and screeching, clawing at the poor guy.  
"This is Ensign Mayle," Travs introduced him calmly as he flailed around the back of the room, "And his cat, I believe,"  
Instantly, the heads of every member of the team snapped around, gazing at the hissing animal. As if sensing the attention, the cat stopped its attack on Mayle, looked around the room, hissed, then took off out the door.  
"I don't know what happened!" Mayle whimpered, "Felix's never so much as scratched me before!"  
"Don't worry," Ensign Packman, a lanky human with unfortunate acne scarring assured him, "We'll…take care of him,"  
"Mayle, meet the squad," Travs said, "You're on Beta Team, along with Paulsan, Syl and Porkchop. Ensign Nacht is Beta Team leader. Lieutenant Vanheath leads Alpha team, his guys are Packman, Trimble, Vorns and Johnson. Lieutenant Morreth is my second in command. Now, we've got gear set aside for you. Suit up; we beam down in thirty minutes!"  
"A mission?" Mayle objected, "But I just woke up an hour ago! Shouldn't I be on…sick leave or something?"  
"Why?" Morreth demanded, "Are you sick?"  
"Well I…" Mayle paused. Actually, he felt really good. The nausea, headache and stomache-ache were all gone. His back burned a bit from Felix's claws, but even that wasn't too bad.  
"No, I guess I'm good to go," he muttered.  
"Good! No malingerers here!" Morreth gave a toothy grin, "Let's go!"

Half an hour later, as promised, the Farkas dropped out of warp in orbit of an unpleasant looking greyish planet. Beta Team was in Transporter Room 2 along with Morreth, while Travs was with Alpha Team in Transporter Room 1. Seconds after the ship dropped out of warp, Mayle felt himself dissolving then rematerializing on the planet surface.  
Beta Team immediately spread out, taking cover behind the big rocks that littered the landscape. There wasn't a lot of vegetation on the planet, and the dingy grey sky had him doubting that the place was even habitable. But sure enough, his tricorder showed a concentration of life-signs in the valley ahead; mostly Orion but with a cluster of Cardassians that might be prisoners. Snapping his tricorder shut he pulled his phaser rifle back up and followed the team as they started moving towards the colony. Alpha Team had beamed down five kilometres from their location and had likewise started moving, the plan being that the two teams would converge on the Orion-held control center.  
"So, first day on the Farkas, huh?" Ensign Syl, a stocky human of French ancestry, whispered amicably.  
"Uh-huh" Mayle muttered back.  
"I remember my first day," Syl said wistfully, "They had to lock me in my cabin for a month,"  
"Why?" Mayle asked, "What's with all the hush-hush, and the-"  
"Quiet," Morreth ordered, "I think I hear…hey, did anybody see my tricorder? I think I dropped it,"  
Paulson, Syl and Porkchop and Nacht all groaned.  
"Again?" Syl, asked, "Merde, boss!"  
"We can't stop to look for the damned thing!" Paulson sighed. Paulson was an alien, but she was one of those aliens that was almost impossible to distinguish from a human without a vivisection.  
If he'd been any other Starfleet officer assigned to a new ship, Mayle might have been aghast at the apparent incompetence. But being from a ship named Aerostar, he was used to dealing with crewmates who weren't exactly the best of the best.  
"Alpha Team to Beta Team," Travs' voice came over the comm, "Looks like they've picked you up on scanners. We've got a group of Orions headed your way. Nothing our way yet,"  
"Acknowledged," Morreth replied, "We…uh…see the same thing,"  
"No you don't, you lost your tricorder again, didn't you?"  
"Um…"  
"Look, just don't get anybody killed except the bad guys, OK?"  
"Yes ma'am!"  
The group had paused behind a low hill. Morreth thought for a moment, then turned to the others.  
"We're going to run along there, staying low enough for those scruffy-looking trees to give us cover," he said, "From there, it's a quick jog into the colony, then we can-"  
"Drop your weapons, Federation scum," a deep, growly voice snapped.  
"We're boned," Mayle groaned, dropping his weapon along with the rest of the team.  
While chatting, the team had been surrounded by no fewer than a dozen Orions. Some of them held phasers, the rest held knives or even axes.  
"Just what do you think you're doing here, humans?" the leader growled.  
"Killing you all," Morreth said, trying to sound like a warrior, but sounding more like the nerdy kid claiming he could blow up the bully's printer with a well-placed computer virus.  
"I'm not talking to you," the Orion backhanded Morreth, sending the Klingon flying back to the ground. He turned back to the human-looking members of the group, "Starfleet wants us dead, huh? I wonder what they'll want after we send you back to them…in pieces!"  
"Uh…boss?" one of the other Orions was looking at Morreth, "What's wrong with his face?  
Morreth's eyes seemed to swell, his pupils changing to vertical slits. His teeth, already the standard toothy Klingon assortment, seemed to be growing right out of his mouth.  
"Colis!" Syl rolled his eyes, "You should not have done that!"  
"I just had this uniform tailored," Paulson complained, "You KNOW the replicators never get my measurements right!"  
The Orions were looking uneasy now.  
"Fine," Paulson muttered, "Let's do this,"

Mayle was pretty sure he was still in Sickbay, under the effects of some really great medication, because what happened next had to be some sort of drug trip.  
All five of his teammates simultaneously broke out in dark brown fur, writhing as it spread down their arms and across their faces. Their uniforms bulged as their bodies contorted, shoulders bulking up like linebackers, their upper bodies thickening as their rib cage pushed outward and as muscled rippled across their backs. He watched in horror as Paulson's mouth elongated into a snarling muzzle filled with wicked teeth and a long, lolling tounge. Her ears became pointed and moved up to the top of her head and long, sharp claws extended from her fingers. Her uniform split apart as she grew, falling in tatters to the ground to reveal a pair of overstretched, pink spandex shorts and a big bushy tail. She arched her back, roaring at the sky.  
Morreth, or at least the snarling beast that used to be Morreth, had jumped to his feet and struck the lead Orion full out. Blood sprayed across the ground, along with most of the alien's entrails. Syl gripped another Orion with both enlarged hands, then his jaws darted forward and locked on the Orion's head, tearing it off with a loud crunch.  
Paulson and Nacht were each eviscerating the now-fleeing Orions, while Porkchop had pounced on a fleeing alien and was in the process of reducing him to bloody scraps.  
In seconds, it was over.  
Mayle was still in the exact same spot, in the middle of the carnage. He was cowering in a standing fetal position, and he was pretty sure he'd wet himself. The big beasts that used to be his new crewmates were stalking around the area, looking for any remaining bad guys. Well, most of them were. It looked like Syl had gotten his target's head stuck in his mouth and was making rather pathetic whimpering noises as he tried to spit it out. One of the other beasts, Paulson maybe, stalked over, grabbed the head by the hair and yanked. Syl yipped in pain, then his mouth snapped shut. He licked his chops, then his eyes fell on Mayle.  
If he hadn't wet himself before, he definitely did now. But the beast just gave a friendly little yip, then turned away.  
There was a crashing sound from the nearby bushes, then Lt. Cmdr Travs and Alpha Team burst out. She surveyed the situation, then let her phaser rifle dangle on its sling.  
"I TOLD you guys to be DISCREET!" she snapped. "Where's Morreth?"  
One of the beasts, this one wearing red spandex shorts (with a strategically placed hole for his tail) ambled over.  
"What did I tell you?" she demanded.  
Morreth just sort of grumbled, then started to turn away.  
Travs grabbed him by the muzzle and pulled his head back.  
"I SAID NOT TO SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF THE NEW GUY!" she yelled.  
Mayle watched in amazed terror as the dainty woman pulled the panting animal's snout down to her eye level.  
"If you don't learn to keep your guys under control and do a SIMPLE attack mission without screwing it up, I'll have you all neutered! I don't care if they grow back when you change!"  
With that she pushed him away and walked over to Mayle.  
"Don't worry," she said as she reached out to give him a lift, "At least you didn't run screaming like an idiot. The last guy who did that…well…Porkchop mistook him for one of the bad guys,"  
Mayle looked over at what he thought was Porkchop…the beast in the green shorts. He was straddling the body of the last Orion he'd killed, muzzle buried in the aliens chest cavity. Sensing Mayle's gaze, he lifted his head, looked over, licked greenish blood from his chops, then buried his snout back into the alien's rib cage.  
"Wha…wha…" he stuttered.  
"Morreth, get these guys under control!" she snapped. Morreth stalked over to Porkchop and gave him a backhand hit. With a yelp, Porkchop fell off the Orion, then skittered away. Travs turned back to Mayle. "Some of the…uh…animal urges are a little hard to control.  
"I-Is that why Syl's humping that tree?" Mayle managed to get out, pointing at the orange-suited beast. It had jumped onto a half-fallen tree and was thrusting for all it was worth. A few paces down, Nacht had found a perfectly healthy tree, had lifted a leg and was proceeding to mark his territory.  
"I can't take these guys anywhere," Travs shook her head in disgust, "Look, can you hold yourself together until the Farkas swings back to pick us up? There's still another two dozen Orions in the colony.  
Biting his lip, Mayle nodded.  
"Great," Travs handed him her weapon, "OK, Alpha Team, the jig is up. Let's at least have some fun until the ship gets back!"  
And with that, her uniform tore to shreds as she transformed into yet another beast. Mayle backpedalled as the remaining human/humanoid members changed, each one giving out a loud roar as the transformation finished.  
Travs lashed out with one hand-paw, tucked Mayle under her arm and ran towards the colony with the rest of the pack.

The rest of the mission was short and very bloody. The Orions barely lasted five minutes before meeting death at the razor-sharp claws or crushing jaws of the transformed security team. The Howlers sent Nacht to unlock the holding facility where the Cardassian colonist had been imprisoned, but none had actually been eager to step outside while he was still around. Travs plucked Mayle from the alley where she'd hidden him, then led the team to the beam-up point.  
Suddenly, the beasts around him seemed to deflate. Muscles shrank, fur disappeared and muzzles retracted back into ordinary mouths. The sound of shifting bones put Mayle' teeth on edge, but he managed to hold onto his lunch this time. (Possibly because he'd already puked up everything he possibly could have.)  
"That was SO much fun!" Paulson laughed, opening a hidden flap on her shorts and pulling out a bikini top.  
"Urp," Porkchop belched, "Excuse me. Must be someone I ate,"  
"That's disgusting," Syl muttered.  
"Uh-huh, we saw you getting intimate with that tree," Porkchop shot back.  
"Hey, you know how bad the…urges…are!"  
"Does anybody still have a comm-badge?" Morreth asked, "Mine fell off my shorts again,"  
As Nacht called for beam-out, Morreth turned to Mayle.  
"Honestly, most of our missions go better than this one did,"  
"Uh-huh," Mayle managed to mutter.

Back on the ship, Mayle went straight to the Captain's ready room.  
"You didn't tell me I was going to be working with a pack of MONSTERS!" he accused.  
"You didn't ask," Captain Harth shrugged.  
"I didn't think I had to!" he snapped. Mayle paused, suddenly remembering who he was talking to. "Uh...sir."  
"It's natural for you to be a little upset," Harth said, gesturing for Mayle to sit, "In fact, I prefer it. Ensign Purkcap started giggling like a schoolgirl when he found out. Creepy as hell."  
"Purkcap?" Mayle asked.  
"Sorry. I guess he goes by Porkchop now," Harth corrected.  
"Look, sir, just give me some straight answers, please," Mayle said, "What ARE they?"  
"They're a group of Starfleet Security officers," Harth said immediately, "Most of them are human, though of course there's the Klingon, the Rigellian, an-"  
"Humans don't turn into hairy monsters," Mayle interrupted him.  
"Have you seen Vanheath's chest hair?" Harth joked, "All kidding aside, I'm sure you've read stories about werewolves before, right?"  
Mayle laughed. Harth didn't  
"You're kidding," Mayle's smile fell flat.  
"Sort of," Harth admitted, "Look, Dr. Wolfman is still trying to understand it. They're not actually werewolves...that would be ridiculous. It's some sort of virus that infects humanoid life-forms and starts messing with their DNA. We've never seen anything like it before. All we know is that every officer that's been infected served at least one tour in the Gamma Quadrant. The current theory is that it's probably something they picked up dealing with the Changelings, or from one of the animals on the current Changeling homeworld."  
"That makes sense," Mayle said slowly.  
"And that's really all there is to it," Harth shrugged, "Starfleet doesn't want these guys on their ships for obvious reasons, we can't release them into the public for the same reason, and Intelligence practically drooled over the chance to have a pack of werewolves at their beck and call."  
He frowned.  
"Don't call them werewolves, by the way. They really don't like it. They don't really care for 'Type-5 Psionic Anomaly' either, which is SI's official term for them."  
"Great," Mayle said. This wasn't too bad. People turning into werewolves was ridiculous, superstitious nonsense. But a group of Starfleet officers suffering from the unfortunate effects of an alien virus…well that kind of thing happened all the time! Why, if only they'd told him sooner, it would have been no problem!"  
"So why am I mixed up in all this?" he asked.  
Harth blinked.  
"Why are…oh…" he smiled weakly, "You remember that 'incurable disease' Dr. Wolfman mentioned to you?"  
Mayle stared at him in realization, his expression shifting to one of utter horror. Then he lost consciousness.  
Harth got to his feet, came around his desk, then prodded Mayle with his foot.  
"Still much better than the guy that started giggling," he shrugged.

After being called to the bridge to help drag Ensign Mayle down to his quarters, Lt. Cmdr Travs returned to the Howler's Den. Most of the Howlers had finished their post-mission clean up, but Morreth and her two team leaders were still there checking over gear. Ensign Syl was still standing in front of a mirror near the showers, clad only in a towel, trying to pick the last few remnants of Orion from between his teeth.  
"-don't know why she was yelling at me," Morreth was saying, "They're YOUR team,"  
"But we work for you," Nacht pointed out, "You're supposed to set the tone. But onto more important matters...what colour should the new guy's shorts be?"  
"Aqua?" Vanheath suggested.  
"But I thought Packman was already teal...wouldn't that be confusing?" Nacht asked.  
"Oh. Um...banana yellow?" Vanheath asked.  
"What part of 'break the new guy in easily' are you idiots just not getting?" Travs demanded, stepping into the room, "First you botch your attack approach, then you all change right in front of him without a hint of warning, now you want to make him run around in yellow spandex? You guys are sadistic!"  
"Nature of the beast," Vanheath said darkly.  
"Don't let Commander Belis hear you talk like that," Travs warned him, referring to the Farkas' first officer, "He's already giving me a hard time,"  
"So what?" Nacht shrugged, "If he gives us trouble, we'll just have Syl chew his arm for a while,"  
"I keeps telling you guys, I don't eat peoples!" Syl called from the shower/bathroom area. He frowned as he dug one last chunk of green from between two teeth and flicked it into the garbage, "That is Porkchop's raison d'etre,"  
"Then maybe you can hump him into submission!" Nacht corrected with a laugh.  
Travs crossed her arms, unimpressed.  
"You boys do realize that if Harth and Belis convince their superiors we're more trouble than we're worth, we'll end up locked up in a Starfleet Intelligence science lab for the rest of our lives?" she reminded them.  
That stopped the laughing.  
"Well...at least until they found a cure," Vanheath said, uncomfortably.  
"To Grethor with that," Morreth broke into the conversation, "I am not interested in a cure! If Starfleet Int decides they don't want us, the Empire would gladly take us on,"  
"Oh you'd love that, wouldn't you," Nacht turned to the Klingon, "A chance to go back as something other than a skinny weakling!"  
"Why you!" Morreth surged at Nacht. Vanheath and Travs held him back.  
"Get out of here," she said to all of them, "Get yourselves calmed down, then bring your teams to the holodeck at 2100,"  
"What's at 2100?" Nacht asked.  
"We have to see whether or not the new guy is truly one of us," Morreth said ominously.  
"One of us, one of us," Nacht and Vanheath started chanting, as if on cue. They broke into giggles.  
"Can't take them anywhere," Travs said to herself, turning to leave just in time to hide her amused expression.

Greg Mayle woke up in another strange bed, the second one of the day. With a groan, he pushed himself into a sitting position, then realized that the strange bed was actually HIS bed, in his new quarters aboard the Farkas.  
"I was really hoping that was just a nightmare," he groaned.  
"MMEEERRRRROOOOWW!"  
He looked over to see Felix sitting in front of the doorway to his living area. He looked back at him, then hissed.  
"Oh, what's your problem?!" he demanded, "You just spent two months in stasis! I'm the one that had half my guts replaced!"  
Another growl.  
He climbed out of bed. Felix jumped to his feet, arched his back and hissed again as his heckles lifted.  
"I'm not listening to you," he said firmly, "And, for that matter, I'm not sitting alone in my quarters having a conversation with a cat!"  
Avoiding the angry animal, he slipped into his bathroom, started his sonic shower and began undressing. In spite of himself, he couldn't help but check his backside in the mirror for a tail.  
"I'm not a monster," he said to himself firmly, "It's a mistake,"  
Felix didn't reply.  
He stepped into the shower and let the sonics wash over him. After a moment, he changed the selector from 'sonic' to 'water' and sighed in pleasure as a wave of hot water washed over him. That was better. He'd had a rough day, he needed to relax.  
He looked down at his torso, checking for scars. He could see a patch of shiny new skin where Dr. Wolfman had opened him up to replace his damaged organs, but no sign of anything that would become a scar.  
Why had Wolfman done that work anyway? Why hadn't his doctor on the Aerostar-A at least done that much before they stuck him in a suspended animation tube and shipped him off?  
The obvious answer was that Starfleet knew exactly what had happened to him, when it had happened to him. Which meant that this had happened often enough that the ships in the Gamma Quadrant knew to watch for it. In fact, considering the number of Howlers on the ship, it must have happened at least eleven times before it happened to him.  
"Would have been nice if they'd warned the lower ranks about this," he muttered.  
What would his mother say if she knew he turned into a hairy animal at the full mood? For that matter, would he turn on a full moon? The Howlers seemed to transform at will.  
He looked down at his hand and willed it to change. He imagined the long claws sprouting from his fingertips, the coarse hair sprouting on the back of his hand.  
Nothing happened.  
Not sure if he should be disappointed or relieved, he shut off the water and got dressed.  
Felix danced back out of his way, still hissing as he stepped into his living room. He stood in front of the replicator for a while, then decided he needed to get of his quarters.  
Maybe supper in the lounge would work a bit better.

Located at the front of the ship on Deck 2, the Farkas' mess hall was fairly small. Most of the facilities on the ship were fairly small, considering the ship only had 15 decks and about 150 crewmembers. Designed for shorter missions, as opposed to the massive vessels built for long term exploration, the Farkas had in fact left Deep Space Nine only two days before.  
It was half an hour before the shift change, so there were only a few crewmembers sitting at the small, gray tables. Most of the people lined up at the replicator were having their meals replicated 'to go'.  
Mayle got in line behind a Vulcan male and waited. The Vulcan turned, regarded him for a moment, then spoke.  
"You are Ensign Mayle," he said, "If memory serves, we picked you up at Deep Space Nine."  
"Greg," Mayle said pleasantly. He knew better than to offer his hand to a Vulcan...being touch-telepaths, they disliked physical contact.  
"Fascinating," the Vulcan replied, "I am Lieutenant Soruk, Science Officer,"  
"Ah,"  
They picked up their meals, but as Mayle turned from the replicator he saw that Soruk had just taken the last available seat at his chosen table. Mayle settled in at the next table over.  
"So what sort of science work do you do on this ship?" he asked, "Lt. Cmdr. Travs told me the ship mostly just ferries around the...uh..."  
"The wolf-pack?" one of the other officers at the table laughed. Judging by his blue collar, he was probably also on the science team, "Yeah, between shuttling them around and studying them, they keep the rest of us pretty busy. You must be new...you one of the new engineering guys we picked up last week?"  
"Ensign Mayle joined us at Deep Space Nine," Soruk said before Mayle could answer.  
Instantly, a chill seemed to settle over the table.  
"Oh...you're the guy Dr. Wolfman was working on," another officer said, "Well...welcome to the ship,"  
With that, they turned back to their own conversation.  
Slightly taken aback, Mayle started picking at his pasta. He downed a few bites, but something just didn't taste right. He was debating a return trip to the replicator when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.  
"I think you're in the wrong room, furball," a deep voice grunted.  
Mayle turned around to see a hulking Xenexian and an equally hulking Andorian standing behind him.  
"I thought this was the mess hall," he said, confused.  
"It is," the Andorian said, "But do you see a doggy dish anywhere?"  
"What?" Mayle looked helplessly over at Soruk's table. The other three officers were pretending not to notice, but the Vulcan turned to regard the situation.  
"There is no logical reason why the Ensign cannot consume his meal here," he told the two.  
"We don't want him here," the Xenexian said, digging his fingers deeper into Mayle's shoulder as the Andorian closed in, "That's reason enough."  
A sudden surge of anger running through him, Mayle shrugged the alien away.  
"Back off, blueberry!" he growled, starting to rise.  
"Bad dog!" the Xenexian said, pushing him back in his chair, "Sit! Stay!"  
Several of the other crewmen nearby chuckled.  
"He thinks he's people!" the Andorian remarked, "Sitting at the table and everything!"  
"What's going on here?" another voice broke in. Mayle and his two assailants turned to see a dark-haired man in command red stepping through the double doors.  
"Nothing, Commander Belis," the Xenexian said, "Just having a little chat with our new...colleague,"  
Mayle looked around, but nobody was about to contradict him.  
"Then I'm sure you won't mind if Mr. Mayle and I have a little chat of our own?" Belis said, stepping over to the replicator and grabbing a bowl of soup.  
"No sir!" the Andorian said smartly. The two grabbed a couple of meals to go and left.  
Evidently the three officers accompanying Lt. Soruk had finished, as there were also standing to leave.  
Belis sat across from Mayle.  
"Sir," Mayle started, "I-"  
"I'm not stupid, Ensign," the commander replied, "I know what was going on."  
"Why-"  
"Why would a pair of Starfleet Intelligence officers have a problem with a potentially dangerous threat? Is that what you're about to ask?" Belis said bluntly.  
"I just sat down to have dinner!" Mayle blurted, "I'm not dangerous!"  
"That remains to be seen," Belis said after a moment. "Look, Ensign, I'll be honest with you. I know you didn't ask for this, and I'm sorry it happened to you. But until we find a way to cure you and the rest of the werewo...the rest of the security team, I think you're all very dangerous. So do a lot of people on this ship,"  
"But I haven't done anything!" Mayle said, "I've never...changed, or anything! I still think this is all some kind of mix-up!"  
"Maybe," Belis conceded, "But I still believe in being careful." He spooned up the last of his soup then stood to leave.  
"By the way, it would be better if you avoided the mess hall from now on," he said, "Some of the crew are a little uncomfortable with the Howlers, and I'd hate for there to be any more...misunderstandings."  
With that, he left.  
Mayle sat there for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened.  
"If you are free tomorrow, I am most eager to begin my scans of your physiology," Soruk commented.  
Maybe it was time for a workout, Mayle thought glumly as he left the mess hall. Dinner sure as hell wasn't helping him relax.

Travs, Morreth, Nacht and Vanheath, along with most of the Howlers, were lounging under a simulated sun in Holodeck 2 when the heavy doors hissed open and Ensign Mayle was shoved roughly through.  
"Hey," a stocky Tellarite shouted in, "This one was in our gym. Why don't you show him where he can play?"  
"Try to keep him off our lawn," a second voice called.  
"Come in here and say that!" Morreth shouted.  
The two SI officers exchanged a glance, then looked at the half-dozen visible Howlers. Travs crossed her arms and gave the two a dark look.  
"Sorry ma'am," the Tellarite said, looking abashed.  
"Just helping him back to his part of the ship," his partner added. They quickly left.  
As the doors hissed shut, Travs sighed.  
She got up and walked over to Mayle.  
"I'm sorry, Ensign," she said, "I thought you'd be sleeping a little longer. Did they give you much trouble?"  
Mayle quickly told her about his encounter in the mess hall.  
"I don't get it," he said, "I've had crewmates injured, infected or disfigured before...but everybody always pulls together until they recover." He frowned, "Or die."  
"They fear us," Morreth said, "They know we could kill them all in about fifeteen minutes,"  
"Unfortunately, he's mostly right," Travs agreed, "It's easy to console a wounded friend, but you know how uncomfortable some people get around sick people. And when those people have a serious disease, the fear is even worse. Imagine dealing with people who's illness happens to turn them into perfect killing machines?"  
"But they can't...it's not catching, is it?"  
"No...and in Fraks case, that's part of the problem," Nacht piped in.  
"Fraks?"  
"The Xenexian," Nacht said, "He was on a tour in the Gamma Quadrant. He was slashed by some kind of animal on a moon in the Changeling's home system and sent here. But the virus didn't take. It vanished from his system almost immediately."  
"So he's not...one of you," Mayle said.  
"One of us," Travs corrected.  
"They kept him on board, since this ship is sort of secret," Vanheath said, "But I think he's jealous,"  
"Ah,"  
The conversation died down and Mayle started looking around. The holodeck was simulating a cottage in the middle of a thick forest. Several lounge chairs had been setup on the broad lawn, and a small pool rippled nearby. The cottage itself was an almost disgustingly rustic two storey affair, complete with a little white picket fence.  
"Where are we?" he asked.  
"Grandma's cottage," Vanheath replied with a twisted grin.  
"Huh?"  
"Go in and see," Vanheath shrugged.  
Hoping the holodeck safeties were on, Mayle opened the door and stepped inside. The foyer was empty, the small living area deserted. He peeked into the kitchen, but aside from a pile of dirty dishes it too was empty.  
He heard something from upstairs.  
He climbed the steps, then turned down the narrow hall. The sound was coming from the last door down...  
He pushed the door open, then gave a yell of surprise as he found himself confronted by one of the Howlers in beast form, dressed in a pink flannel night-gown and cap. The beast was sitting up in a small bed that barely seemed to support it, with a big, fluffy comforter drawn up to its waist and a book carefully clutched in one clawed hand.  
The beast looked back at him, almost seeming to grin.  
"My," Mayle said, recovering from his earlier shock, "What big teeth you have, grandma,"  
With an urf-urf-urf of laughter, the thing went back to its reading.

"At least he didn't pass out, wet himself or run screaming that time," Paulsan said to Nacht as Mayle walked back out of the cottage, "That's gotta be a good sign,"  
"Let's hope," Nacht replied.  
"So, you guys spend a lot of time here?" Mayle asked.  
"The captain set aside this holodeck for us," Travs said, "We also have our own dining and workout rooms just off the squad room."  
"These SI guys are such a welcoming bunch," Vanheath said dryly.  
"Anyway, let's get down to why you're here," Travs said, growing serious. The rest of the Howlers were gathering around now.  
"Why are we here?" Mayle asked, suddenly nervous. He noticed that night was quickly falling over the holographic forest. And, big surprise, it was a full moon.  
"The transformation isn't easy," Travs said, "Especially the first time. It takes a lot of effort. But it gets easier over time."  
So that was it. They expected him to...wolf out.  
"Look," he said, "I'm sorry about whatever...disease you guys have, but I tried this in the shower. I tried to get my hand to change. Nothing happened!"  
"You can't just change part of yourself," Vanheath said stripping down to his brightly coloured shorts, "It's all or nothing."  
With that, he closed his eyes. Fur rippled across his body and his bones rearranged themselves. His torso and arms elongated, his legs thickened with bunched muscle. His snout pushed out, and he let out a loud howl as the transformation finished.  
Shaking his head, he dropped to all fours and ran into the woods. Mayle stared as he returned a moment later, a stick the size of a small tree clenched in his jaws. He dropped the stick in front of Mayle, stood back up on his hind legs and yipped playfully.  
"You guys are...in control, when you do this?" he asked.  
"More or less," Travs said. She nodded at Syl, who was in the process of changing, "There are a lot of animal instincts to deal with, and some of us are better at dealing with them than others. But you're still...you."  
"Uh-huh," Mayle noticed 'grandma' coming out of the cottage, discarding the pink night attire and pouncing on Syl. The two rolled around on the grass, wrestling.  
All around him, the Howlers were changing to their beast forms. Nacht was chasing a rabbit, a rabbit that quickly died in a spray of holographic blood.  
Mayle suddenly felt very, very out of place.  
"What about the full moon?" he asked.  
"An issue," Travs said slowly, "A holographic moon does nothing, of course. But if you're on a planet, or even sometimes on an orbiting ship, a full moon makes you change."  
Nacht had come up behind Travs, walking on his hind legs, his chops still damp with holographic rabbit blood. He gestured at Mayle.  
"You're right, I'm sorry," she addressed Nacht, then turned to Mayle, "We'll have plenty of time for details later. Change," she gave him a grin, "Little Red Riding Hood's going to be here any minute now. You don't want to disappoint her!"  
"But...I..."  
"Focus your mind," she told him firmly, "find that animal inside you, and let him out."  
She grimaced, then sighed.  
"I know, that sounds horribly cliché," she said, "But it's the best way to describe it."  
Looking around nervously, Mayle closed his eyes and focused.  
"Nothing happened," he said, his eyes popping back open.  
"Try harder than that!" Travs crossed her arms, "I know this is new to you, and we all know you didn't want it. But you're already aboard the Farkas, which means you're either going to be a Howler, or you're going to be a bitter officer forced to babysit a bunch of freaks. Now what's it going to be?"  
Mayle honestly wasn't sure what the answer to that question was. OK, no, he didn't want a disease, and he didn't want to eat anybody! But at the same time, the chance to turn into something other than just another human was...alluring. Something about running through the night, chasing prey and hunting with the rest of team seemed to call to him.  
He closed his eyes again, and tried to channel that call into his body, to let every part of him, every cell and every molecule hear that call.  
After a moment, he cracked open one eye.  
Nothing had happened.  
Travs was looking at him expectantly...so was the entire squad.  
Mayle looked back at her, confused.  
"Well, that's not what I expected," she admitted.

"Couldn't this have waited until morning?" Dr. Wolfman asked. He'd met them in Sickbay and proceeded to lead them to Science Lab 3, which had been setup specifically for studying the Howlers. Mayle had been pushed onto a slightly reclined scan platform and a variety of sensor devices had descended around him.  
"We tried for half an hour," Travs said, "Even Porkchop managed his first time after ten minutes or so!"  
"Well, I could give him a Viagra and let you two try again in twenty minutes," Wolfman joked.  
"Not funny, doc," Travs said.  
Mayle lay quietly as the scanners did their work. Just like in the shower, he was somewhere between relief and disappointment. Relief because maybe he was right...maybe this was a big mistake and he wasn't actually a freak of nature. Disappointment because part of him really did want to...er...let his hair down. To become something savage and brutal...unstoppable.  
"Well, he's definitely infected," Wolfman said after a moment, "The virus is in his bloodstream."  
"They why can't he change?"  
"No clue. You might remember that this whole thing is a bit of a mystery to us," Wolfman said dryly.  
"Maybe I'm getting better?" Mayle commented.  
"Hmmm...possible, but I doubt it," Wolfman said, "We had a couple of cases where the virus disappeared shortly after the subject was exposed, but that doesn't seem to be happening here."  
"I'll need some time to review these scans," he said, "For now, I suggest you go to bed and get some rest. Try again tomorrow.

Mayle went back to his quarters, tried to ignore Felix's startled growling when he stomped through the doors and tried to pretend that he hadn't realized that his quarters, his teammates' quarters, the Howler's Den, Holodeck 2 and the security team's dining and fitness facilities were all on the same two decks of the ship. Whoever was running this show had probably figured it would be more 'efficient' that way, but it also conveniently isolated the infected officers from everybody else.  
He collapsed on his couch, only to have Felix jump on his lap, clawing angrily. With a curse, he retreated to his bedroom, barely closing the doors before the enraged feline could get in.  
Blowing a breath out, he undressed and collapsed onto the bed.

The next day, after eating a quick breakfast in the Howler's mess hall (and not having anybody threaten to kick him out), Mayle met with Morreth, Natch and Vanheath in the holodeck.  
"Maybe we've just got to set the mood," Natch said.  
"Is that why we're standing in the middle of the Cryptkeeper's house?" Mayle asked dryly.  
"Just try it!" Natch said.  
Again, Mayle closed his eyes and imagined the changes coming over his body.  
Nothing happened.  
"Well, I didn't think this scene was going to help anyway," Vanheath shrugged, "Computer, load 'American Werewolf in Paris'!"  
This time, Mayle found himself in the middle of a crowded yet dilapidated church. A bunch of poorly dressed youths, evidently in the middle of some kind of party, were watching a group of monks inject something into their arms. Suddenly, the monks began transforming into beasts similar to, but not quite the same as the Howlers.  
"At least we don't have to do that," Nacht said.  
The holographic werewolves were now proceeding to slaughter the crowd of partygoers. Mayle`s stomach turned as he watched one werewolf eviscerate a dark-haired, shirtless male. Morreth was unconsciously licking his lips.  
"I don't think this scene's going to help either," Mayle said.  
"Just try!"

By the time they broke for lunch, they'd tried fifteen different settings, mostly fictional, but also an empty field during a full moon, a bleak-looking grotto, even Stonehenge. Nothing worked.  
They left the holodeck and returned to the mess hall for lunch. Nobody said anything, but it was clear that the other Howlers didn't know what to make of him. Morreth, Nacht and Vanheath were friendly enough and Travs stopped by to say a brief hello, but the other team members stayed at their own tables, shooting questioning glances at the team leaders.  
The doors hissed open, and everybody except Mayle turned to see who it was, some of their nostrils even flaring as they sniffed at the air. It was Dr. Wolfman.  
"I...uh...wanted to discuss your test results," he said. Syl had started sniffing at his back. Wolfman started to look back over his shoulder, but Porkchop pulled Syl away just in time.  
"What did you find?" Mayle asked eagerly. Around him, the Howlers weren't exactly being subtle in their attempt to listen in.  
"You're infected," Wolfman shrugged, turning back to him, "We already knew that. But the amount of virus in your system is lower than expected, though it is rising." He shifted in his seat. "Anyway, if you have any further questions you know where to find me. I'll...just be on my way,"  
With that, he made a quick exit.  
Travs smacked Syl upside the head.  
"It's no wonder the rest of the crew doesn't like us!" she snapped.  
Mayle was looking down at his lunch. Travs gave Morreth and the team leaders a little 'get to it' gesture.  
"The change is not always easy," Morreth said, sitting across from Mayle, "Especially if you have already changed that day. The most any of us has been able to manage is three in one day,"  
"It's got to be something in your head," Vanheath said, half to himself, half to Mayle. He was starting to pace, Nacht folling in step. It might have started as pacing, but it quickly changed into something resembling a pair of predators circling their prey. "Some kind of block..."  
"Almost like you don't really want to be one of us," one of the other Howlers called out.  
"I'm trying, I really am," Mayle said quietly, "You think I want to spend the rest of my career with the other pricks on this ship?"  
As he said it, he knew it was true. As long as the virus was in his system, he had two options: join the Howlers or try to fit in with the crew. And they hadn't exactly rolled out the red carpet for him.  
He closed his eyes again and focused every piece of willpower he had on 'bringing out the beast', as Travs had put it.  
Nothing. He opened his eyes to see eleven disappointed faces looking back at him.\

The Howlers had another mission the next afternoon, after Mayle endured another evening largely spent hiding from his cat. This one wasn't as major as the Orion operation...simply a fugitive who was trying to hide out on an isolated planet. Travs beamed down in human form, with the rest of the squad changing in the transporter room before beaming down. The transporter operator had swallowed nervously as she watched, then nearly jumped out of her skin when Mayle stood next to her at the transporter panel.  
"I'll take over monitoring," he said.  
With a grateful smile, she proceeded to get the hell away from the lot of them.  
Mayle sighed, then started following the team with the transporter sensors. The mission wasn't complicated; the guy was a convicted serial killer from a colony world with a knack for technology. He was an expert at hiding his life-signs, and while that might be a problem for a standard Starfleet security team it wasn't an issue for a wolf pack and their combined noses.  
Several hours later, after combing a large area of terrain with amazing speed, the pack started converging on Packman's position. The enemy had managed to lead them on a chase that would have confounded any other team, but once Packman caught his scent it was just a matter of time.  
"Travs to Farkas, I need a site to site," the comm chirped, "I need to be there to arrest him in person,"  
"So to speak," Mayle muttered as he worked the transporter controls.  
He was definitely not in a good mood. This state of limbo was only a couple of days old, but it was already old news. He just wasn't used to being the outsider! At the Academy, he'd been pulled into his squad, then his sector almost at once. Both ships he'd been posted to, the USS Constantinople and the USS Aerostar, had been quick to welcome him onto their crews. This middle ground, with the SI crew on one side and the Howlers on the other, was really starting to piss him off.  
"Farkas, we've apprehended the fugitive," Travs' voice came over the comm, "Beam us up now, then bring up the rest of the team on my order,"  
"Acknowledged," replied Captain Harth's voice.  
Mayle slid his fingers up the sliders and watched as Travs and a very frightened-looking lizard-alien appeared.  
"What WERE those?" he was saying frantically, "What planet are they from? Or are they something you crazy Starfleet people cooked up in a lab?"  
"Get him to Sickbay," Travs ordered two regular security officers who had just stepped through the doors, "Make sure Dr. Wolfman gives him a good memory wipe,"  
"Memory wipe? Hey! You can't do that!" the reptile shouted.  
As the first officer led the criminal out of the transporter room, Mayle beamed up the first six Howlers. They'd already changed back to their human (or equivalent) forms and looked just a bit silly standing there in their spandex.  
"Nice undies," the second guard said as he was leaving.  
"Kiss my ass!" Porkchop called out, turning to show the guard his backside, complete with a bare patch of exposed skin right at his tailbone. Morreth bared his teeth and cocked his fist, only to be held back by Nacht. Oblivious, the guard left.  
"I've gotta ask," Mayle said, hoping to defuse the tension, "Why the fluorescent spandex?"  
"It's a little hard to tell us apart, otherwise," Nacht said.  
"For people, anyway," Vanheath corrected.  
"Yeah. People have a terrible sense of smell,"  
They started giggling, until Travs threw folded uniforms in their direction.  
"Cover up, pups," she said, "Post-mission in fifteen minutes.  
Maybe this was his lot in life, Mayle thought to himself. Maybe the Howlers and the Farkas crew really did need him. It was clear the Farkas crew had problems with their charges, and it was equally clear that antagonising a dozen werewolves was the path to bad, bad news.  
But maybe he could...bridge that gap? The Howlers didn't really accept him, but they could deal with him. And if the Farkas crew learned that he couldn't wolf out on them, maybe their relations would improve?  
Right. Then he could deal with both sides, but not belong to either one.  
"Thanks for keeping an eye on us, Mayle!" Paulsan have him a smile as she finished dressing and walked towards the exit.  
He forced a smile.  
"No problem!"

The first thing Mayle heard when he opened his door was the sound of purring. For one split second, he thought that maybe he'd have a peaceful night. Then he noticed that his couch and his chair were both shredded beyond repair, with bits of fluff floating in the air. The few knick-knacks he'd unpacked were scattered across the floor, mostly broken, and the standard-issue Starfleet Plant-in-a-Vase had been knocked over, the water soaking into the carpet.  
As soon as Felix saw him, he jumped up from where he'd curled up in the remains of the couch, flicked back his ears and hissed.  
"Why, Felix?" Mayle asked tiredly, "Is it the new ship? Is it the werewolf thing? I can't help either one, you know! And I'm not even a real werewolf!"  
He stepped towards Felix, only to have the cat jump away and scamper between his legs. He darted at him, barely missing his tail as he ran out the door. That little rat! If he really had been a wereworld, he'd turn fuzzier than that damned cat and swallow her whole! If ONLY he he could!  
Grabbing the cat-sized stasis tube, he ran towards the door.

"I guess he's not one of us after all," Morreth said to Travs.  
"How's that even possible?" Nacht asked, "He has the virus, right?"  
"Right," Travs nodded.  
"But he can't...perform..."  
"Look, we don't even understand what we are, how are we supposed to figure him out?" Travs shook her head, then stopped. "Hey do you hear that?"  
"Aw, look," Morreth pointed, "His cat got out again!"  
The cream-coloured cat suddenly bolted, running past them.  
"What the-"  
Mayle quickly followed, stasis tube in hand, his lips pulled back in an angry snarl.  
"GET BACK HERE YOU STUPID CAT!" he shouted.  
Travs shrugged.  
"Well, he may not be a real Howler, but I'd say he's got the right attitude anyway," she said.  
"Liaison officer?" Morreth asked.  
"Lord knows we could use one on this ship," Travs agreed.  
"At least we'll have somebody on the squad the crew won't be terrified of," Nacht added.  
"Shall we help him out with his little problem?" Travs suggested.  
"We talking kill or capture?" Morreth asked.  
"Capture, you idiot. You think killing his cat would get him on our side?"  
"Good point,"  
With matching roars, the three of them transformed to wolf form and took off down the corridor.

End

Next: Ensign Mayle didn't ask to be the creamy center of the Farkas vs Howlers Oreo, but when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. Or you demand to see life's manager and insist he take the lemons back, but since adding Cave Johnson into this story would just make things far too confusing, we will stick with the lemonade. On the other hand…werewolves with exploding lemons? Maybe that would be interesting…no promises though.


	2. 2 - Heads or Tails?

Star Traks: Howlers

2 – 'Heads or Tails'

Mayle was running.  
That wasn't new. In fact, nothing about the situation he found himself in was new. The dark, hazy forest around him, the crunch of twigs and other debris as his heavy foot-pads came crashing down, the feel of loamy soil on his clawed fingertips as he moved on all fours.  
The prey he was chasing wasn't new either. He'd hunted this prey dozens of times, never quite able to see it but always aware that it was there in front of him. He sprinted, but the blurred form he was chasing matched his speed, remaining out of reach.  
He could see a thick copse of trees straight ahead. His prey darted straight in, vanishing in the thick branches. He had it now! He quickly circled the bunch of trees, not seeing a single moving leaf. His prey was hiding! Victory would be his!  
He jumped into the trees, scattering leaves and branches in all directions.  
But where his prey had been, there was now only a small pile of dry, bleached-white bones.  
Mayle bared his teeth, threw back his head, and howled.

"What do you suppose he's dreaming about?" Dr. Brent Wolfman wondered, looking down at the unconscious form of Ensign Greg Mayle as he lay on the double-width bio-bed in Science Lab Three. Mayle was curled on his side and his arms and legs were twitching. Every now and then his mouth opened and he gave an odd little grunt.  
"Logically," Lieutenant Soruk arched an eyebrow, "Considering that he reported experiencing the same dream repeatedly over the course of the past week, we can conclude that he is again dreaming of hunting while in a wolf-like form,"  
"Yeah," Wolfman hasn't taken his eyes of Mayle, "My dog used to twitch his legs in his sleep like that. I guess now I know why,"  
"Let us continue our scans," Soruk said flatly.  
"Right,"  
As the Chief Medical Officer and Science Officer respectively, Dr. Wolfman and Lt. Soruk were responsible for leading the study of the Howlers: the dozen (minus one) Starfleet officers and crewman that had been infected with a strange virus that manifested itself with symptoms that were disturbingly similar to Terran werewolf mythology. The Howlers could change at will into a beast that resembled a cross between a humanoid and a big, shaggy wolf. Capable of walking upright or dropping to all fours, the Howlers sharp claws, nasty teeth and ability to (mostly) maintain their humanoid intelligence while in beast form had inspired Starfleet Intelligence to group them together into a special assault team. They'd collected enough scientists to study the virus, enough support personnel to get the Howlers to whatever planet they needed to go to, dumped the whole lot on the Intrepid-class USS Farkas then proceeded to classify the whole project so deeply that sometimes the Farkas' crew themselves weren't sure whether they were still real, or merely a figment of some demented imagination.  
Ensign Mayle was the 'minus one'. Despite having been infected by the same virus as the rest of the Howlers and despite exhibiting similar changes in behaviour, he was completely incapable of transforming into beast form. Lieutenant Commander Alice Travs, the Farkas Security Chief and leader of the Howlers, along with her second-in-command Lieutenant Morreth and team leaders Ensign Nacht and Lieutenant Vanheath, had spent hours trying to help him through. However, despite cravings for rare meat and the strange nightmares, Mayle was the same man he'd been before he was infected.  
More or less.  
"Don't you sometimes just want to lock them all in isolation chambers and poke them with a stick just to see what would happen?" Dr. Wolfman asked, a big grin on his face.  
"Highly illogical, as the specimen would no longer be in isolation once we entered to initiate the stick-subject study," Soruk said, "Or were you considering automated methods?"  
"Whatever works," Wolfman shrugged.  
"And what would we expect to learn from such an undertaking?"  
"How humanoid-form werewolves react when subjected to repeated negative stimuli," Wolfman replied.  
Soruk frowned.  
"Was that not the basis for your experiment involving electroshock and early 21st-Century Terran rap music?"  
"And look at how much we learned!"  
"And yet, the exploratory surgery you insisted we perform on Ensign Purkcap taught us nothing about human anatomy that we did not already know,"  
"Keep your voice down, Peter Pan, we don't want him to hear us!"  
They were quite for a moment.  
"Perhaps we could perform exploratory surgery while one is in beast form?" Soruk suggested.  
"Sure, as soon as we find a sedative that works on them when they're all furred and fangy," Wolfmen replied.  
"AHHHH!"  
With a shout, Ensign Mayle sat straight up, his head darting around.  
"Easy there," Wolfman said, setting down his medical tricorder, "You're in the science lab. Remember? We're studying your brainwaves? While you sleep?"  
"Right, right," Mayle said, taking a deep breath, "I'm OK,"  
"Tell me about your dream," Wolfman said eagerly, "Was it the same as before? Did anything change?"  
"Um...it was mostly the same," Mayle said, trying to recall. Dreams got hazy so quickly, "Except at the very end,"  
"Yes?"  
"Well...whatever I was chasing turned out to be just bones," Mayle frowned, "That's the same as always. But then right after, I was...I was in a small, white room. And there were these two veterinarians there. One had a scalpel, and the other was holding a black and yellow book that had 'Castration for Dummies' on the cover,"  
Mayle gulped.  
"What do you think that means?"  
"Oh...I'm sure it's nothing," Wolfman smiled pleasantly, "Now, why don't you head on back to work. And tell Ensign Syl we'll be ready for him first thing in the morning,"  
"Sure thing, doc," Mayle replied.

It was the end of his shift, so Mayle returned to his quarters. In the week since he'd joined the Farkas crew, he'd had his couch and chair replaced and had finally gotten his quarters into order. As the door to the corridor hissed shut, he walked over to his small desk and brought up the days messages. One was from Ensign Nacht, reminding him that there was a Beta Team training exercise in the Howler holodeck at 0800 the next morning. Another was from Counsellor Tomillo, asking him to meet with her to discuss an incident between Crewman Vorns, a Howler on Alpha Team, and another crewman from engineering. Also, at 0800.  
Sending a message asking Tomillo to reschedule the appointment, he sent Nacht an acknowledgement, then walked over to his couch.  
He was actually feeling pretty wired. He'd slept all afternoon, after all. It was a little early for supper, maybe a workout would be in order?  
He glanced over at the stasis tube that contained Felix, his cat. Since he'd been infected with the Howler virus Felix had hissed, slashed, growled at and generally despised him. After he'd shredded Mayle's couch, Mayle had stuffed him in the stasis tube and left him there. Unfortunately, Felix hadn't been the only one to react negatively to the news. The Farkas crew didn't exactly appreciate having a dozen freaks of nature on their ship. Most of them were just uncomfortable with the Howlers, but some were downright hostile. And Mayle, as the only person infected with the virus but unable to transform into a rampaging beast, had been appointed the brand-new liaison officer.  
Which meant that the Farkas crew treated him like one of the Howlers, the Howlers didn't know what to do with him, and his cat treated him like mouse poop.  
Biting his lip, Mayle realized he would be spending another quiet evening alone in his quarters.

"OK, team," Ensign Nacht said, "Today we'll be practicing a routine assassination. Scenario is that our target is a public figure, often in the media. Planetary police forces have verified evidence of his crimes, but he's got the legal system tied up in knots. Starfleet, of course, has no jurisdiction in this kind of thing, but Starfleet Intelligence wants him removed. And the best way to ensure nobody suspects anything is with a good, old-fashioned animal attack,"  
"Ensign Mayle will handle our command point, while we each take turns sneaking in close enough to take out the target,"  
Mayle raised his hand.  
"Who's the target?" he asked.  
"Ah!" Nacht looked at the padd in his hand, "Today we have a man who, in the early 21st-Century, terrorised millions. He was seen as a scourge on the face of humanity...it was decades before the rest of the world forgave Canada for spawning this creature,"  
"Mobster? Crime lord?" Mayle asked.  
"Worse," Nacht replied, "Justin Bieber,"  
Everybody shuddered.  
"Wait," Mayle said, "we're practicing by killing an annoying celebrity?"  
The Howlers looked blankly back at him.  
"Who else would we practice on?" Porkchop asked, looking confused.  
"Nothing, never mind," Mayle muttered.  
Mayle set himself up with surveillance and communications gear in an empty building near the singer's mansion. The communications gear was decidedly one-way, since the Howlers couldn't speak English in beast form. But the surveillance equipment would help him practice tracking them while they trained, and both Nacht and Morreth would want to go over his recordings to assess the training.  
OK, so it was mostly busy-work since he couldn't actually practice with the team, but Travs insisted that if he was going to be their liason officer instead of another obnoxious Farkas crewmember, he had to train with them.  
"Porkchop, you go ahead and start first," Nacht called.  
Porkchop walked nonchalantly along the sidewalk, near the wall of the singer's large home. He looked around, shed his shirt, then changed.  
His skin turned dark, then sprouted thick fur; short on his arms and neck, longer on his head, down his neck and across his back. His arms lengthened, his chest and back swelled out with the sound of cracking ribs and a thick layer of muscle grew across his body. His mouth pushed out into a canine snout, his teeth sounding almost like popcorn as they changed.  
As soon as the transformation was complete, Porkchop leapt over the fence with a single jump. Mayle's viewpoint followed him as he jumped through an ornate window, leaving the drapes in tatters. He ran through the house, his claws skittering across the marble floors. Within a minute he found a music room where a blond, dainty human male was singing.  
"Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby," Bieber sang loudly.  
Porkchop staggered, the boys annoying, high-pitched voice tearing through his sensitive hearing. Then he pounced. There was a flash of teeth, a splash of blood, then the wall was covered in a spray of Bieber-bits.  
Porkchop was still clawing at the corpse, ribbons of flesh flying under his razor-sharp claws. He managed to snag most of them between his jaws, wolfing them down.  
"Porkchop, you still have to escape," Mayle reminded him.  
On his screen, Porkchop abruptly looked up, then bolted back the way he came. Once he was back outside the fenced yard he changed back to human form, picked his shirt up off the street, dressed, and walked calmly away.  
"Not bad," Nacht said, "But..."  
"But?" Porkchop asked.  
"Well... you changed in plain sight. Anybody could have seen you,"  
"Oh,"  
"Paulson, you're up next,"

Paulson's approach was to slip into the house by jumping into the back of a garbage truck, changing while it drove into the yard then climbing onto the roof of the house. She found a skylight over the practice room. A single well-placed jump and she smashed through the skylight, landed on top of Justin Bieber and squashed him flat. She ripped off his head for good measure, then dug her claws into the wall and hauled herself back up to the skylight and out.  
"Better," Nacht said, "But what's one advantage that Porkchop's plan had,"  
"It looked more like a random animal attack," Mayle answered over the comm, "At least to the average passerby. Who's ever seen a wild dog sneak in through a skylight?"  
"Right," Nacht looked around, "Well, I guess since Syl's in the science lab, that just leaves me.  
Nacht walked right past the big house until he reached a small park. One minute he was walking along a path near a waste canister, the next he disappeared from Mayle's view. After a moment, the system caught a glimpse of him transforming in the middle of a low bush.  
The bushes rustled as he crept, low to the ground, to the edge of the park. He darted into an alley, then quickly sprinted down the alley and leapt the fence into the Bieber residence. From there he smashed through the front door, located his prey (this time squawking something about stars in the sky) and tore the obnoxious brat to bloody shreds.  
He retraced his course, changed back to human form, retrieved his cloths from the garbage can and returned to the rest of the team. Mayle came out of the observation post and joined them.  
"Of course, this approach wouldn't work very well if there was heavy surveillance around," Nacht conceded, "But SI has other assets for those cases. Most of our targets are relatively low-tech."  
"Can we do Kim Kardashian next week?" Paulson asked eagerly.  
"Add her to the list," Nacht shrugged, "No shortage of annoying celebrities to shred.

After the training exercise, Beta team started cleaning up while Alpha Team was helping out with day-to-day security tasks.  
"Colis," Ensign Syl complained as he entered the Howler's Den, AKA the security squad room and training facilities, "I don't know what they did to me in the science lab, but it feels like I've been poked all over with a stick,"  
"Any bruses?" Crewman Paulson asked.  
Syl, already stripping down on his way to the showers, started looking around his body. He tried to check his back, but couldn't turn his neck around enough. Within seconds, he was spinning around, trying to catch a glimpse of his own backside.  
"Use the mirror, dummy!" Paulson laughed, "And your thingy is showing,"  
Syl held a tower over his groin, then backed up to the mirror.  
"No," he said, "No bruises. But I still ache,"  
"Maybe I could...massage you better!" Paulson jumped at him, her hand going for his flat stomach.  
"Tummy rub!" Syl laughed, "No! That tickles!" He fell back against the wall, but Paulson moved in without mercy. Within seconds, tears were streaming down Syl's face as his left leg started beating at the ground.  
"HEY!" Lieutenant Morreth barked, his voice somewhat high-pitched and whiney for a Klingon, "What do you two think you're doing?"  
Paulson immediately stopped and stepped back.  
"Improving morale, sir!" she said smartly.  
"I see that," Morreth growled.  
Syl picked his towel up off the floor and covered himself.  
"Clean yourself up!" Morreth ordered, "Travs is getting mission orders from the captain. She'll be down to brief us in an hour,"  
Mayle, having already showered, looked thoughtful as he left.

"It's like they didn't even realize what they were doing," he said.  
"Ensign Syl didn't know that Ensign Paulson was giving him a tummy rub?" Counselor Becky Tomillo asked, "As though they were overtaken by a hostile alien intelligence?"  
"Um, no." Mayle frowned.  
"Then you mean that Ensign Paulson, in an uncontrollable fit of rage, attacked Ensign Syl, who for some reason thought he was getting a tummy rub?"  
"NO!"  
"Those poor, poor, mutated souls," Tomillo said sadly, "We need to get the entire squad into intensive therapy. Oh, how horrible,"  
"They knew what they were doing!" Mayle said, trying to ignore what he'd just heard, "It was just ordinary locker room stuff,"  
"Stuff?"  
"Y'know," Mayle shrugged, suddenly a bit embarrassed, "You get in from training or a mission, everybody's high on adrenaline, there's horseplay. People clown around."  
"Does this ever lead to ritualistic hazing?" Tomillo suddenly leaned in, looking interested, "Of a sexual nature, perhaps?"  
"What? No!"  
"Pity," Tomillo sighed, "I...uh...know how to treat that sort of...deviant behaviour,"  
"They just didn't seem to realize how odd it was that instead of smacking his ass with a towel or shutting off his hot water, she was giving him a tummy rub," Mayle tried to bring things back to the original topic, "And Syl didn't even seem to realize that he was completely naked until somebody pointed it out. Doesn't that seem odd to you?"  
"Not really," Tomillo shrugged, "And probably not to anybody who saw Syl at the New Years Eve party."  
"I'm just worried," Mayle finished, "I'm worried about what's happening to these people. Y'know...in the head,"  
"Worried about them, or yourself?" Tomillo suddenly switched back into counsellor mode.  
"Hey, I'm the only one who seems to be having any success fighting off this virus!"  
"Mmmm...yes. Fighting off." Tomillo's professional demeanor vanished as quickly as it appeared.  
"Anyway, we're here to deal with Crewman Vors, aren't we?" Mayle asked.  
"Right," Tomillo rooted around her desk for a moment, then pulled out a padd, "On or about 2100h, two nights ago, Crewman Jacobs was performing a routine inspection of one of our class-9 shuttles, the Hunter. When he arrived in the shuttlebay, he found Crewman Vors standing next to the observation viewport, screaming at the stars. Jacobs tried to ignore him while he checked the shuttle, but after five minutes, he demanded that Vors leave, or at least be quiet. At his point, Crewman Vors walked around the space between the two of them, looking confused. After a few moments, he unzipped his trousers and urinated on the tractor beam housing, then went back to the viewport."  
She set the padd down and looked back up at Mayle.  
"Now, how do you suggest we proceed?" she asked.  
Mayle stared at her blankly.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this!" Mayle was saying to Ensign Nacht as the latter walked from the Howler's mess hall to the briefing room, "Tomillo wanted to force him to wear diapers and go into therapy for nocturnal enuresis!"  
"I hope you changed her mind,"  
"He still has to go to theray for a bit, but I convinced her not to make him wear diapers,"  
"Good," Nacht nodded, "Sounds like you're doing fine,"  
Mayle gave the shorter officer a look as they stepping into the briefing room.  
"She also says that the next time anybody starts any sort of 'pseudo-sexual ritualistic hazing activity', we're supposed to call her so she can observe our behaviour," he added.  
"Have we ever done any of that?" Nacht asked.  
"I don't know, I just got here a week ago!"  
"And we're glad to have you," Lieutenant Commander Travs called from the front of the room, "Now sit down, shut up and listen!"  
The rest of the Howlers were seated in the tiered rows leading down to the front of the security team's mission briefing room. Travs stood on a small box behind a podium, while Lieutenant Morreth stood off to one side, ready to run the technical side of the briefing. He tapped a button and one of the big screens displayed the blue-skinned face of an Andorian while the other displayed a typical M-class planet.  
"This is Xixumbas," she began, "She's the head of the 42nd Hive of Andor. Or at least was, until about two year ago when she embezzled about a million credits worth of latinum, dilithium and other valuables from the Hive and went off to fund a very illegal spleen-harvesting facility on Glubdug IV,"  
"Spleen harvesting?" somebody asked.  
"Many Andorian dishes call for spleen," Morreth clarified, "the fresher, the better,"  
"Ah,"  
"Now, in this case, Xixumbas has established herself in a fortress on Glubdug IV," Travs continued, "It's a pre-warp civilization, which means it's protected by the Prime Directive of Non-Interference. It's roughly equivalent to Earth around the time of the Crusades, in that we've got two major religious powers stabbing the living crap out of each other with pointy objects."  
"Literally," Nacht muttered to Vanheath. They broke into giggles.  
"Which means Xixumbas can harvest all the spleen she wants from the battlefields," Morreth spoke up, "At a ridiculously low cost. The Andorian Coalition of Spleen Merchants has hired a dozen assassins to take her out, and the Andorian Tribunal has sentenced her to a very gruesome death, assuming the assissins fail,"  
"Sounds like the Andorians are going to do our job for us," Lieutenant Vanheath remarked.  
"They would, except Starfleet won't allow anybody to step foot on a Prime Directive planet," Travs explained, "In fact, they've got two starships patrolling the edge of the system now, making sure the Andorians stay out. If the Andorians manage to kill Xixumbas, Starfleet's going to pitch a fit. And if a Federation recovery team manages to pull her off Glubdug IV and stick her in a rehab colony, the Andorians are going to have assassins all over that place like fleas on a cat,"  
Everybody in the room gave a small sneer of disgust.  
"So Starfleet Intelligence is sending us in to dispose of the problem before Starfleet or the Andorians can," Travs concluded, "A fast but messy mauling by wild animals will satisfy the Andorians and preserve the Prime Directive,"  
"Sounds like we've found our niche market," Vanheath muttered to Nacht. Again, they giggled.  
"We've got two days to figure out how to get some Howlers into that fortress, rip apart an Andorian, and get out," Travs looked towards Nacht, "Who's up next on the Celebrity Death-List?"  
"Ummm..." Nacht looked at his list, "My team wants to do Kim Kardashian, but I had Tom Cruise up next,"  
"Well, our next target's a woman. So stick Kim in some chain-mail and put her in the fortress. Get the scans of the target location from Lt. Morreth. Beta Team's taking the lead on this one, people,"  
She turned, then left.  
"DISMISSED!" Morreth shouted, causing at least four Howlers to jump in their seats.  
"Wait, not you Nacht," he called, "And not you Vanheath. And Vors, I need to talk to you. Oh, and Syl, you need to give me the summary of your science lab visit,"  
Mayle waited a few moments to see if his name was going to come up, then left.

"I'm bothered by this," Commander Martin Belis said, crossing his arms.  
"I know you are," replied Captain Evan Harth replied, "You've made that abundantly clear.  
"They're talking, very casually I might add, about murdering a Federation citizen," Belis pressed.  
"Yes, that's what I ordered them to do," Harth shrugged, "Since those match the orders I received."  
"But does that strike you as ordinary behaviour for a Starfleet officer?"  
"For a security team? Let me think." Harth put a finger in his mouth, then turned almost immediately back to Belis, "YES! Killing things is about half of what a security team trains to do,"  
"No, that's what the Federation Marine are trained to do," Belis corrected, "What we SHOULD be doing is getting that Andorian scum-bag off that planet and hauling her sorry ass to some god-forsaken penal colony where she can rot!"  
"The Andorians disagree," Harth said mildly, "In fact, the Admiral's Andorian adjutant agreed that this is the perfect solution. They're investigating other cases involving Prime-Directive protected planets where we could be useful. Lieutenant Vanheath was right; this could be a real niche market for the Howlers,"  
Belis looked coldly at the screen in the captain's ready room, where footage from the Howler's briefing was currently paused.  
"We'll see," he said coldly. The Howlers were too dangerous to be used like this, he knew. Sooner or later, one of those beasts was going to bite the hands that fed them.  
Why couldn't Harth see that?

Mayle returned to his quarters after a busy day. As the only non-changing member of Beta Team, he'd be running the transporter and monitoring the team from the ship. He'd spent much of the time after the briefing reviewing transporter procedures and sensor configuration. Luckily, that meant that the job of cleaning all the spandex Howler undershorts fell on Ensign Porkchop instead of him.  
He looked around the empty suite for a moment, then turned and left. To hell with what the Farkas crew thought: he needed a drink, and he needed to do it someplace where he didn't have to worry about anybody humping, shedding, or peeing on things.  
With that he rode the turbolift to Deck 2, entered the mess hall and walked up to the small bar that doubled as a lunch counter during the day.  
"I need a beer," he said, "Something stronger than Old American, but nothing that'll knock me on my ass,"  
"Yes sir," the bartender said. He did not reach under the counter or turn to the drink replicator, "Um, sir...you know I'm always happy to serve, but it's generally best if you drink in your mess. I'd hate to see any unpleasantness break out,"  
"I can't change," Mayle said flatly, "I've tried. It doesn't work."  
"I...oh. The bartender seemed to digest this, "Well...I guess..."  
He fiddled behind the bar, then handed Mayle a drink. Mayle drank about half the beer, slammed it down on the counter, then turned to face the other crewmembers in the mess.  
"You hear that?" he shouted, "I can't change into a big shaggy mutt. So get the hell off my back!"  
He polished off the rest of the beer, slammed it down, and gestured for another one.  
"Sounds like somebody got fixed," a sneering voice said in his ear.  
Mayle turned to see Crewman Fraks, a Xenexian male, taking a seat next to him.  
"It's none of your business," Mayle said.  
"Oh, I think anything involving shapeshifting freaks is everybody's business on this ship," Fraks retorted, "None of us would be here if it weren't for you. Or maybe I should say, if it weren't for them,"  
Mayle didn't respond.  
"So what happened? The virus disappear?" Fraks gave him a small, tight smile.  
"That's your story," Mayle said, "didn't say it was mine,"  
"You're right," Fraks snorted, "I was lucky. I was this close," he held his hand less than an inch off the counter, "from spending the rest of my life barking and licking my genitals. I was incredibly lucky,"  
"Oh, I don't know," Mayle said, "You may not be licking yourself, but you've still got your head shoved up your ass,"  
Fraks' smile faded.  
"Shouldn't you be getting back down to your own mess?" Fraks snapped.  
"Funny," Mayle said, now halfway through his third beer, "Considering I'm not really a Howler, I think I am,"  
Fraks glared at him angrily, then at the bartender.  
"Technically," the bartender stuttered, "Everybody's allowed in here. It's just that the Howlers generally prefer to keep to themselves,"  
"I believe what my friend here is saying," Mayle said as he got unsteadily to his feet, "is 'shove it',"  
"OK," Fraks replied.  
Fraks shoved Mayle away from the bar, sending him falling back into a table, sending drinks and glasses flying in all directions. There was a panicked yell as Mayle fell to the floor, then slowly started to rise to his feet. As he did, he noticed that the gathered crew was keeping their distance, looking at him with a mix of fear and expectation.  
"He didn't change," somebody muttered.  
"I don't know. Is that fur?" somebody else said, "Growing out of his ears?"  
"Certainly doesn't look wolfish," said a third, "Of course, we haven't seen him smile,"  
Looking around at the crowd, Mayle decided that maybe it was time to leave after all.

He stumbled out of the mess and down the corridor towards the turbolift, one hand reaching out to steady himself on the railing. Was that progress? Nobody had kicked him out of the mess that time, at least. Of course, nobody had come to his defence either. It had seemed like none of them were actually aware of the fact that he was closer to human than Howler, despite the fact that he'd been the focus of some rather intense study over the course of the past week. That seemed to him like the sort of thing that would have been all over the ship at the speed of gossip. That is to say, Warp 10.  
He was so caught up in thought (and booze) that he almost walked right past the poster hanging on the bulkhead. He stopped, looked, went to continue walking, then stopped again.  
It was a picture of the Howlers. Recent, from the looks of it. From today, actually. It showed them gathered in the briefing room, the back of Lt. Cmdr. Travs' head clearly visible at the bottom of the frame. Across the top and the bottom of the picture somebody had added the following words:

FREE TO A GOOD HOME.

With a snarl of anger, Mayle ripped the poster off the wall. He stalked past the turbolift and did a quick circuit of the deck, tearing down two more posters along the way.

Mayle woke the next morning with a very unpleasant thudding in his head. He had vague memories of racing through deck after deck, looking for...something. Then voices...people...ship security, maybe? Then things got dark.  
He groaned, then rolled over in bed. His head hurt, his tongue felt fuzzy and he was pretty sure he'd pulled something in his back when he fell on that table. At least his feet were nice and warm. Really warm, actually. Almost like...  
Mayle sat up, instantly regretting it but determined to stay up.  
Ensign Porkchop was curled up at the foot of his bed, clad in a comfortable-looking pair of pajamas.  
"What are you doing?" Mayle croaked.  
"Oh, you're OK!" Porkchop said, stretching, "Ensign Nacht told me to keep an eye on you, after ship security caught you running around Deck 10 with an armload of ripped posters,"  
"And by keeping an eye on me, you figured he meant crawling into my bed?"  
"Just trying to help out, buddy-boy!" Porkchop said, getting to his feet, "Hey, is there breakfast? I could really go for some breakfast. Let's get breakfast!"  
With that, he darted out of Mayle's room, through his living area and out into the corridor.  
"I hate morning people." Mayle muttered.  
His cat, still stuffed in the stasis tube, did not respond.

As the Farkas warped towards the Glubdug system, Mayle's life didn't exactly improve.  
First, Commander Belise ordered him into counselling for his little poster-tearing rampage, conveniently ignoring the fact that somebody on the Farkas crew had put the insulting things up in the first place. Then Counsellor Tomillo had spent an hour with him talking about his childhood, followed by a prescription for medication that the library computer told him was actually for erectile dysfunction. Of course, he didn't realize this until after he'd taken his first dosage and wound up with a permanent...bulge. How incompetent was that woman?

"You switched the meds?" Dr. Wolfman asked.  
"I did," Counselor Tomillo replied, "But really, I don't see how this is useful. Or ethical. We could be doing serious harm to that man's emotional well-being!"  
"Yes, exactly," Wolfman replied absently.  
"By the way, we have another Howler reporting being locked in a turbolift by one of your nurses," Tomillo continued, "Perhaps we could arrange a Harrassment Prevention Seminar? With cookies! Or maybe coffee? OH! OH! Coffee AND cookies!" She clapped her hands gleefully.  
"Yes, yes," Wolfman waved her away, "Whatever,"

So once again, Mayle found himself in the mess hall, drinking alone. This time he was seated at a table next to one of the windows that looked out towards the front of the ship, watching the stars streak by. Soon, the ship would be entering restricted space and the Farkas crew would have a chance to see just how well their sensor-reflective shields actually worked. Why Captain Harth didn't just contact the two Starfleet ships patrolling the edge of the system and give them clearance codes was beyond Mayle, and the situation made him feel like they were sneaking into enemy territory. Enemy territory that just happened to be in their own back yard.  
Back yard. Heh. Paulson or Syl would appreciate that one. The rest of the Farkas crew probably wouldn't get it.  
Mayle shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable despite the after-effects of Tomillo's medication. How long was it going to take for the damned thing to get back to normal?  
"Hey," a voice said from over his shoulder, "That a phaser in your pocket, or you just happy to see me?"  
"I haven't seen you yet," Mayle replied, trying to tilt his head back, "And that's the oldest, cheesiest line in the book,"  
An attractive blond woman came around and leaned on the back of the chair across from his.  
"Anybody sitting here?" she asked.  
"No," he gestured at the chair, "But I should warn you that everybody thinks I'm a dangerous, blood-thirsty beast,"  
"Rumour has it you're not, you just play one on TV," she replied, taking a seat, "I'm Becky,"  
"Greg," Mayle replied, "And...it's complicated."  
"You're the new guy. The one that's infected, except you don't get all hairy on a full moon,"  
"OK, not that complicated," Mayle admitted, "Is that why you came over here? To check out the circus freak?"  
"Well, part of why I came over here was a request," she said, suddenly getting business-like, "See, the antigravity system in Cargo Bay 2 is out and we've got a bunch of containers that need to be moved around. It's going to take us forever. But if we had half a dozen really strong...beings...well,"  
She shrugged.  
"So, you want me to get the guys to change, just so they can lift heavy things?" he asked, "Uh...why ask me?"  
"Well, you ARE the liason guy, aren't you?"  
"OK, I'll ask," he paused, "What's the other reason you came by?"  
"Well, your...excitement is a bit hard to miss," she gave him a mischievous grin.  
"My...oh!" Mayle blushed, "Look, that's just...they gave me the wrong medication,"  
"That's too bad," Becky said, rising from her chair. She gave him a look, "well, if you change your mind, come buy me a drink,"  
With a wink, she moved over to the bar.  
Mayle remained in his seat for approximately 2.4 milliseconds before jumping to his feet and dashing to the bar.

"Interesting," Wolfman observed, watching the spy-cam footage from Mayle's cabin, "I was certain the changes in his endocrine system would render him unappealing to non-Howler females, yet she seems to be responding to his advances,"  
"I would suggest your choice in test subject is ill-advised," Lieutenant Soruk said, watching clinically as Mayle and Becky kissed on the screen. (Their cloths were still on, at least.) "My understanding is that Ensign Becky Ianda is not the most discerning when it comes to her sexual partners,"  
"I agree," Wolfman nodded, "But who else could we manipulate into going after him than a hyper-sexed woman who needs a bunch of heavy stuff moved?"  
"I concede your point," Soruk inclined his head.  
They watched for another moment.  
"Let's see what happens if they're interrupted," Wolfman decided, "Cut power to the cat's stasis tube."

Mayle didn't know what happened. One minute, he was trying to get Becky's bra off, the next there was this horrible, ear-splitting howling, then a sharp pain on his back. He lurched, banging his nose into Becky's forehead.  
"HEY!" Becky objected, "It's a little early to get rough, buddy!"  
"What...FELIX!"Mayle snapped, reaching behind to try to get the cat off his back.  
"You never said anything about a jealous boyfriend!" Becky accused.  
"It's my cat!"  
Becky, recovered from the nose-head 'aborted docking manouver', finally located the source of the noise. She pulled Felix off his back and started stroking him.  
"There there," she cooed at the cat, "Was somebody mean to you?"  
"I had him in stasis," Mayle tried to explain, "He's been attacking me ever since I...well, since I got to this ship,"  
"He's just upset about moving, aren't you, puss-ums?" Becky nuzzled the cat, "And being in a sleepy-sleep tube isn't going to help,"  
She let Felix jump to the floor. He hissed at Mayle, then scampered over to the kitty-bed in the corner.  
"Well, I guess I should head home," Becky said, "I'll see you guys in the cargo bay after the mission?"  
With that, she left.  
"Don't suppose you feel like cat-sitting?" Mayle called to the empty room. He sighed.  
"Guess I'll have to take care of this medication problem by myself," he grumbled, wiping blood off his nose.

"It's the waiting that I can't stand," Porkchop said.  
"Oui," Syl agreed, "Not knowing if we're going, or not going, or if the ship has been detected,"  
"Personally, I think having all of you in here wearing spandex is the worst part," Mayle said from behind the transporter console.  
Beta Team, comprised of Nacht, Paulson, Syl and Porkchop, was gathered in Transporter Room 2 along with Morreth and Mayle. Morreth would be going down on the mission while Mayle ran the transporter and monitored the team. Travs was staying on the bridge with the captain for this mission.  
And yes, as per standard procedure, the Howlers had stripped down to their individually coloured spandex shorts prior to changing: Red for Morreth, green for Porkchop, orange for Syl, tan for Nacht and pink for Paulson. Paulson was wearing a matching bikini-top, her shorts had a handy little pouch to tuck it into after she changed. They each wore a flexible earpiece that would remain fixed in their right ears, even after they transformed.  
"We're sexy," Syl said, flexing his stomach, "I tink we're sexy!" His face drooped a bit. "Don't you tink we're sexy?"  
"I'm not interested in men, Syl," Mayle said flatly.  
"S'okay dude," Porkchop patted Syl on the back, "I'm not into dudes either, but I still think we're all sexy,"  
Syl looked a bit happier after that. Mayle rolled his eyes, but truth be told he actually felt a little bad that he hadn't been able to join in on their little pre-mission joshing. He could still feel the energy in the room, that desire to be 'let off the leash'.  
But he still felt outside of it.  
"Hey, I hear you volunteered us to move crates in the cargo bay," Morreth said to him, quietly enough that the others didn't hear, "Thank you. We all so enjoy being used as menial labour,"  
"But, I-"  
"Bridge to Transporter Room 2," Travs' voice came over the comm, "We have a go. Deploy, deploy, deploy,"  
"I heard you the first time," Mayle muttered as the Howlers jumped onto the tranporter pad. As they did so, they began to change, fur and muscles rippling until the platform was filled with thick, burly, furred bodies. Together they let out a roar that seemed to shake the ship.  
"Energizing," Mayle said as he ran his right hand up the sliders, his left massaging his left ear, "And...ouch..."  
As he accessed the sensor array and homed in on the beam-down point, he had time to wish Tomillo had mistakenly given him a painkiller instead.

Beta Team materialized in the middle of a dense forest. Grubdug IV was a temperate world, though the sky seemed a bit too blue, the foliage a bit too yellow, and the air far too humid. Morreth took the lead, dropping to all fours and trotting towards a distant stone tower.  
"No, Morreth," Mayle's voice came over their earpieces, "That's the wrong fortress. Xixumbas is holed up in a castle west of your position,"  
Morreth gave a quiet yowl, as if to protest.  
"If you're trying to tell me that you're heading west because the sun is setting over there, you should probably know that Grubdug IV's sun sets to the east.  
Morreth growled, turned, then began trotting towards the stone tower that had previously been directly behind him.  
"I'm getting more data from the bridge," Mayle went on, "There are Andorian life-signs coming from the main keep, just like we had in the simulation. It looks like there was a battle about ten kilometres from your position, so it's likely that her accomplices are out gathering spleen. And you might want to run back and grab Syl, he's getting intimate with a tree again,"

"Don't need to see that," Mayle muttered, moving the optical sensors from Syl to Porkchop. Just in time to see a small squirrel-like animal disappear in a flash of strong jaws and a squirt of blood. "Oh. Didn't need to see that either,"  
"Bridge to Mayle," the comm chirped, "Report,"  
"Beta Team is en route to the target," Mayle replied, "Nothing else to report,"  
"Acknowledged. Bridge out,"  
As the channel closed, Lieutenant Vanheath stepped through the doors from the corridor. Like Beta Team, he was dressed only in a pair of tight-fitting spandex shorts.  
"How's it going?" he asked.  
"I just beamed them down five minutes ago," Mayle said crossly, "Uh, sir,"  
"Well, Alpha Team's ready to move out, if you need us," Vanheath said, "Oh, and thanks by the way. We just love power-lifting to help out the idiots on this ship,"  
Mayle couldn't take much more of this.  
"If any of you had poked your heads off Deck 7 recently, you might have noticed that the Farkas crew has some pretty big issues with you guys," he said.  
"Yeah, we don't have to leave our territory to see that," Vanheath snorted, "We never see them, they never see us. Well, except the bridge and science guys watching us on a mission or something,"  
A thought occurred to Mayle.  
"When was the last time an ordinary Farkas crewman saw any of you in beast form? And I don't mean as part of an experiment or something."  
"Uh...dunno. Maybe never?"  
"Thought so," Mayle turned his attention back to his scanners, "Hey...I'm picking up some funny readings north of the castle...it almost looks like...let's see if I can get the optical sensors over there..."  
He straightened.  
"Transporter room to bridge!" he snapped, "There's a ship on the planet! Andorian design!"  
"Yes we've seen it," a bored-sounding voice came from the bridge, "Xixumbas' getaway ship, most likely,"  
"Then why does it have an Andorian Assassins Guild marking?" Mayle demanded.  
"Whatever," the bridge signed off.

Nacht eased himself up the wall of the fortress. The stone wall would have been almost impossible for a human to climb, but the Howlers' extended reach made it easy. He slowly brought his eyes level with one of the narrow slots lining the top of the wall; standard design for any culture that used arrows or other projectile weapons. Inside the fortress he could count close to two dozen armed guards patrolling the ramparts and down on the ground. A main hall or keep crouched at the other end, no doubt their prey was holed up in there. Tactically, it would have made more sense to climb the wall directly behind the keep, but whoever designed the fortress had apparently realized that...the wall was higher at that end, and the stone appeared to have been polished smooth enough to make any sort of climbing impossible.  
He gently lowered himself down as far as he could, then dropped the last few feet to the ground. Morreth and the rest of the team looked at him expectantly. He reached out with a clawed index finger and quickly sketched the layout of the fortress, familiar to everybody from the orbital scans. He quickly indicated the guard positions he'd seen. Syl was whining softly with impatience, and Porkchop's left hind leg was starting to twitch.  
Morreth studied the diagram for a moment, then quickly sketched out a path that would keep them relatively out of sight. He stomped out all evidence of their presence and gestured for the team to follow. As one, they jumped up the wall, their long arms just reaching the ridge below the ramparts. (Except for Porkchop, who fell to the ground. He made it on the second try, his hind legs pawing at the wall to get him over the top.  
They'd just passed Nacht's previous lookout point when a screech of static burst from their earpieces.

"SHIT!" Mayle cursed.  
"What?" Vanheath demanded, coming around the transporter console.  
"We're being jammed!" Mayle snapped. On the console, Vanheath could see that the sensor displays focusing on the fortress had dissolved into confused jumbles.  
"I don't think the Glubdugs have subspace jamming technology," Vanheath observed.  
"No, it's got to be...hold on, let's see if I can localize it...it's coming from the target location!"  
He called the bridge and reported.  
"Yes, thank you for your report," Lt. Soruk's calm voice replied, "We are aware of the jamming, and are confident that Beta Team will succeed in their mission and move out of the affected area for retrieval,"  
In the background, he could hear Travs using language that was decidedly un-ladylike.  
"But they don't know-"  
"Bridge out,"  
"-that there's Andorian assassins down there," Mayle finished as the channel went dead.  
"Beam me down!" Vanheath demanded, jumping on the transporter pad.  
Mayle was punching in coordinates, then realization struck him.  
"You can't go," he said flatly.  
"They're in trouble!" Vanheath shouted. His pupils were already vertical slits and his teeth were starting to lengthen.  
"And you're going to do what? Explain the situation to them through interpretive dance?" Mayle ran to the equipment locker and grabbed a tricorder, phaser rifle, a small anti-grav unit and a case of transport enhancer bands, "They don't need another Howler right now, they need somebody who can speak English and use a phaser!" He stuffed the equipment into a pack.  
Vanheath thought about this for a moment, then stepped off the pad and back behind the console.  
"You're going to have a hard time catching them," he said.  
"I don't need to catch them," Mayle said, coming back around the panel, "I just have to stop that assassin from getting in their way."  
He tapped into the optical scanners and switched on the old-fashioned thermal imaging. Without the subspace enhancement, the image wasn't as clear. But he could still see the bright-yellow signatures of the guards patrolling the fortress and the blazing white signatures of Nacht and his team as they slipped up the wall.  
And barely a kilometre from team, in the direction of the Andorian ship, a single figure running towards the fortress.  
"Beam me here," Mayle said, indicating a point just outside the jamming field.  
"Good luck," Vanheath replied as he ran his fingers over the controls.

Mayle materialized on the planet, an unpleasant pins-and-needles sensation telling him he'd beamed in just a bit too close to the jamming field. He quickly oriented himself in the dimming light, then ran full-tilt towards the section of fortress wall that appeared to be his target's destination. Taking cover behind a bush, he waited for the sound of rustling leaves and breaking branches to tell him his target was approaching.  
There was only silence.  
He wasn't sure what it was...some sixth sense, or some tiny sound, but he immediately ducked, just as a razor-sharp blade hissed through the space formerly occupied by his neck.  
"Pink-skin!" an alien voice hissed.  
Mayle spun around, bringing the phaser rifle up just in time to block another attack.  
"Undeveloped planet," Mayle managed to force out as he rushed to parry the next attack, "Prime Directive...presence is illegal!"  
The assassin immediately stopped, held his weapon in a defensive stance and took a step back.  
"OK, try that again, human," the Andorian sneered, "Because that was just pathetic,"  
Mayle cleared his throat.  
"Ahem. This is an undeveloped Federation planet protected by the Prime Directive," Mayle said, this time more clearly, "As such, your presence is a violation of the Federation Accords, of which Andor is a signing member,"  
"I'm here to remove that interference," the assassin replied.  
"So are we!"  
"One human? Against Xixumbas of the 42nd Hive? I think not,"  
"I'm not the one here to kill her," Mayle said.  
From the fortress, there came the unmistakable sound of a wolf howl.

Nacht swatted at Paulson, who immediately stopped howling. But it was too late, their stealth approach was ruined. Not that it really mattered, they were mere meters from the keep. Morreth and Paulson jumped through two of the four windows lining the wall, Nacht, Syl and Porkchop following right behind them. Their eyes quickly adjusted to the brighter indoor light just in time for Porkchop and Nacht to dispose of two guards that were moving in for the attack. Syl and Morreth pounced on two more guards before they could react, blood spraying across the stone walls of the keep.  
Nacht turned his attention on Xixumbas while Paulson dropped a heavy wooden beam across the doors. The Andorian woman was standing at the far end of the keep, a blinking device about two feet tall humming next to her. She held a short sword in each hand and was clearly expecting trouble.  
But it was equally clear she wasn't expecting five shaggy, snarling beasts.  
"I see the Assassin's Guild is getting more creative," she said in her lisping Andorian voice, reading her weapons.  
Nacht and Morreth exchanged a look. Phasers were one thing, but they hadn't exactly prepared for swords.  
Oops.

"You cannot stop me," the assassin was saying, "This contract is far too valuable. Why, the royalties I've been offered on future spleen distribution alone could...but never mind,"  
He jumped at Mayle again, the human officer barely backpedalling out of the way. Confronting a highly skilled killer entirely on his own suddenly didn't seem like such a great idea.  
"I'm not here to stop you," he replied, trying to bring his phaser around to stun the alien, but his opponent just slashed at the weapon again, forcing Mayle to choose between stunning the alien but losing a hand (at least) or bringing up the rifle to block the blade.  
"Then what-" the Andorian broke off as the sound of screams and animal roars emerged from the fortress, "You...you snnixxeth!"  
He immediately sprinted for the fortress wall, kicking off a conveniently placed rock. Mayle brought up his phaser, but there was a small glow from the heels of the assassin's boots and he catapulted over the wall and onto the roof of the keep. Anti-grav boots!  
Cursing, Mayle slung the phaser rifle and dug the anti-grav unit out of his pack.  
"I wish I'd practiced this on the holo-deck," he groaned. The anti-grav unit was small and rarely used...useful for moving heavy objects or occasionally crossing otherwise un-traversable terrain. Anti-grav boots were far more popular, but the blocky Starfleet versions were almost impossible to run in.  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Mayle triggered the unit. The antigrav fired at full power, nearly taking his arms off as it rocketed into the air. He managed to cut the power, only to find himself dozens of meters in the air.  
"Oh shit!"

"Well? Shall we do this?" Xixumbas demanded as she stared fearlessly at the Howlers.  
Syl's teeth were bared, and he snarled at the woman before jumping towards her. There was a flash of steel and a rush of fur, then Syl was right back where he'd started, a shallow cut on one flank leaking blood.  
"Nice try," Xixumbas sneered. A thud from the wooden roof caught her attention and she looked up, just for a moment. Morreth and Nacht rushed her simultaneously. She slashed at Nacht, forcing him to jump back. She barely managed to deflect Morreth's claws, several sharp claw tips clattering to the floor as they were severed by the blade. (Luckily, no fingers went with them.) There was a series of rapid footsteps on the roof, then a second blue figured launched itself through the window.  
"I kill you in the name of the Andorian Assassin's Guild!" the figure screamed, throwing a stiletto-type knife across the room, where it sunk to the hilt into his target. Or rather, into the furry form that had just jumped towards the target.  
Porkchop howled in pain as the knife sunk into his back, his arms flailing back to reach the handle, knocking over furniture in the process.  
"Oops," the assassin admitted, reaching for another knife.  
"This is your idea of an assassination?" Xixumbas demanded as she dodged nimbly away from Paulson, "This...this...circus!? You are a disgrace to killers across the galaxy!"  
There was a loud crash and a spray of splintered wood as Greg Mayle smashed through the roof above Xixumbas, landing directly on the Andorian spleen-master and squashing her flat with a crunch of broken bones.  
"Guys..." he groaned, trying and failing to climb off her broken, bloodied corpse, "Watch out...there's a...bad...uggghhhhh"  
The assassin suddenly found himself face facing five bloodied, pissed off beasts as Mayle lost consciousness.  
"Uhhh...good doggies?"  
Morreth picked up a heavy chunk of rock that had been dislodged during Mayle's entrance, hefted it in one hand, then brained the assassin with one quick toss.  
While the alien dropped unconscious to the floor, Nacht's body seemed to deflate as he returned to his diminutive human form. He ran over to Porkchop, running his hand soothingly over the injured Howler's flank as he wheezed, bubbles of blood on his lips. He pulled the stiletto out with a quick yank, then applied pressure to the wound. Porkchop was still standing, though in obvious pain. Syl quickly mauled Xixumbas' body, making it look as if some kind of animal had come through the roof and killed Xixumbas. He began reverting back to human form.  
"Hmm," Nacht commented, "I guess if you don't have a handy skylight, you can just make your own,"  
"You couldn't have come up wit dat rock idea five minutes ago?" Syl asked Morreth.  
Morreth shrugged.

With the target dead, it was a simple matter for Nacht to switch off the jammer and request beam-up for the team. After a second team quickly retrieved the assassin's ship, the Farkas slipped away under cover of its sensor-reflective shields, leaving Starfleet to clean up the remaining mess. Mayle and Porkchop were taken to Sickbay and quickly patched up while the remaining Howlers conducted their post-mission clean-up.  
But the day wasn't done yet.  
Still limping from his broken legs despite Dr. Wolfman's treatment, Mayle found himself in the control booth for Cargo Bay 2. Down on the main level one of the ensigns was screaming in surprise as several of the Howlers changed into their beast forms. Rather than disembowelling and devouring the frightened cargo handlers, they simply looked over at Ensign Ianda. She nervously pointed at a rack of survival gear crates and asked them to take it over to Bay 3.  
As the Howlers used their superior strength to lift the heavy crates, Mayle heard the door behind him open then close. After a moment, Lt. Cmdr. Travs was standing next to him.  
"Commander Belise is furious that you beamed down against orders," she said frankly.  
"I tried telling them that there was a problem,"  
"And it's a good thing, too," she nodded, "Because the bridge comm logs have already been uploaded to SIHQ. We've got them by the short hairs on that one,"  
Down on the floor, one of the cargo handlers was nervously approaching Syl. Syl dropped to all fours and allowed himself to be scratched behind the ears. The cargo handler gave a nervous laugh, which turned into a yelp then a giggle as Syl started sniffing at her.  
"I know the guys were giving you a hard time about making them do this," Travs went on, "But I see what you're trying to do,"  
"Great," Mayle muttered, "I hope the rest of them figure it out,"  
"They will," Travs smiled, "Once they find the case of real Centaurian vodka Ensign Ianda's having delivered to the Howler's Den tonight,"  
"I don't remember making that deal with her," Mayle frowned.  
"I did," Travs replied, "But the guys don't need to know that, now do they?"

"Well, that was a bit of a disaster," Commander Belise said darkly as he looked around the conference room table at Captain Harth and Dr. Wolfman.  
"Oh, I don't know," Harth replied, "We learned that the Howlers are horrible prepared to deal with primitive weapons, after all,"  
"We were SUPPOSED to learn how they'd react when they were cut off from their ship, stranded on an alien planet and under attack by an unexpected enemy!" Wolfman complained.  
"And we would have, if Mr. Mayle hadn't decided to run amok," Belise insisted, pounding on fist on the table, "We should have ordered him to stay on the ship!"  
"Mr. Mayle did what he thought he had to do to salvage the team and the mission," Harth said calmly, "I for one find his actions to be just as interesting as whatever the Howlers might have done if he hadn't interfered.  
"That's true," Wolfman admitted slowly, "I'll have to go over the sensor logs again. The ones where we managed to clear out the jamming, that is."  
"This whole thing is an explosion waiting to happen," Belise shook his head.  
"The Howlers have clearly developed a social hierarchy," Wolfman insisted, "As long as they show lupine tendencies, we can be reasonably sure that they'll continue to see superior officers as 'pack leaders', so to speak. We're just lucky they didn't turn into were-cats...they would have killed us all long ago!"  
"You can talk about wolf packs and alpha dogs all you like,' Belise retorted, "But how do you think they'd react if they knew we'd arranged for Starfleet to let that assassin slip through their patrols?  
Now it was Wolfman's turn to look uncomfortable.  
"That would be...bad," he admitted.  
"Then we'll just make sure that we have a fall guy setup in case they start getting...suspicious," Harth said, "Now I don't know about you two, but it's been a long day. Dr. Wolfman, I'll expect your report in the morning. Oh, and Belise, see if the Chief Engineer can't come up with something the Howlers can use to block a sword without blowing their cover. They're far too rare to get sliced in half.  
"Unless it's in the name of science!" Wolfman added cheerfully.

After leaving the Howlers to their work, Mayle returned to his quarters, ate a quick replicated meal and proceeded to collapse into a tub full of hot, sudsy water. A luxury to be sure, but also part of his prescription from Dr. Wolfman...at least until his bones finished knitting. Felix seemed to be leaving him alone for the moment and instead seemed more interested in sleeping, which was a welcome change. He'd tried sticking him back in his stasis tube after Becky had left the night before, but Felix would have none of it. Short of getting a couple of Howlers to help him hold the animal down (again) there didn't seem to be any chance of getting the cat back into the bag...so to speak.  
He'd barely allowed himself to relax beneath the bubbles when his door chime rang.  
"There is NO WAY in hell I'm answer that door," he mumbled.  
There was a hiss from the outer room as the doors opened, then the sound of a very annoyed cat.  
"What are you doing?" Travs demanded as she barged into the bathroom, kicking at Felix as he clawed at her ankles.  
"I'm relaxing," he replied, "And hoping I don't run out of bubbles,"  
"I work with Syl," Travs crossed her arms, "I can see naked men whenever I want to. And sometimes even when I don't,"  
"So you're not here to check out my wonderful body? HEY!"  
Travs had grabbed a bar of soap off the sink and tossed it at him, splashing his face with water and suds.  
"The guys are all down in the Den, drinking Centurian vodka and wondering why you're avoiding them," she replied.  
"I didn't think they'd want me there," Mayle admitted, "I mean, it's sort of a 'Howler's Only' club. And I haven't exactly been fitting in with them,"  
"But you've been getting along better with the Farkas crew," this time it was a towel she tossed in his direction. She turned away so he could dry off and get dressed.  
"Well, sort of," he replied, "I mean, they don't seem quite as hard to get along with as they did when they thought I was going to...go all wolfy. But the Howlers have been doing the opposite! It's like...it's like they don't trust me anymore," he finished.  
"What you did today showed them that you're willing to look out for them," Travs said quietly, "And that you're willing to risk yourself for them, even when the rest of the idiots on this ship won't. None of us has seen much of that since we were infected."  
Mayle didn't have an answer to that. He finished pulling on his off-duty uniform.  
"C'mon," she said, giving his arm a tug, "Let's go,"  
They arrived at the Howler's Den mess to find the usual post-mission festivities. Snacks and food had been replicated, and several bottles of Centaurian vodka were already half-empty. Syl was running around half-naked, Vors was chewing frantically on a strip of jerky and Paulson and Vanheath were sitting across from each other at a table, several full (and several more empty) shot glasses sitting between them.  
"Found him," Travs announced as she led Mayle into the room.  
"Oh good!" Nacht jumped up and rushed over to the small counter next to the replicator, "we got you something!"  
Trying not to flinch as Syl and Trimble started sniffing at the back of his neck, Mayle accepted the small box.  
"Ok, that's enough," Travs said, shooing Syl and Trimble away.  
Mayle opened the box, revealing a cheap plastic head strap, to which two fuzzy, triangular dog ears had been attacked.  
"It's not a full change," Morreth said, fixing the ears on Mayle's head, "But it is a start!"

End  
.

Working on the third one. Could be a while!


End file.
